Take Me Away
by Blonde Charger
Summary: Wren Craft loves to write. It gets her through the day, when most of the time she can't see the screen for tears. What will happen when a certain Goblin King is summoned to take her away? The past cannot be forgotten, it will find you... Chapter 6 up!
1. Chapter 1

Yes, me again. This is for all you Labyrinth people out there. You know who you are. I can see you, sat in front of the computer, aching to read a good labyrinth fic. Well, guess what? You've found one! Enjoy, and as always, you like, you review. Please? I _love_ reviews! They're wonderful.

This story is dedicated to my good friend Soraya who I converted to Labyrinth-iness. She now drools over Jareth like the rest of us. It's only a short amount of time til the whole world realise the wonder that is the Labyrinth. Oh, and don't sue me. I don't own Jareth etc, but I do own Wren Craft. Please don't steal her? She likes being where she is. (Contact me if you want to use her, she might say yes ;))

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_**Take Me Away**_

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_**Chapter One: - Rainy Days and Foolish Words**_

"Hey." She turned around cautiously and glanced at Jack, who was sitting behind her. He was holding a folded piece of paper in his hand, which he thrust at her before looking up attentively.Wren unfolded the paper slowly, unsure what may be inside. She didn't trust any of them, but Jack was unknown territory. He was a sheep, only following where the others lead.

There upon the crudely lined paper was a message: -

Wanna go out Saturday nite? If you folks agree, any way?

Love, Jack

She looked up again at him. Sure he wasn't much to look at, but she could do much worse. Besides, she hadn't been asked out before. He was smart too, but not so smart he was noticed as a potential victim. Hesitantly, she turned around again, and saw he was watching her intently, with his muddy eyes. His pale blonde hair was gelled into spikes and he was grinning.Wren ducked her head, in a small nod, noting how his face lit up.

Suddenly, he began to laugh. Heavy, cruel laughter, controlled by a fist as he tried to contain himself. He peered over to the other guys who were all laughing silently, eyes streaming, slumping side ways, mouths cracked into jack-o-lantern like grins. Sinister and hollow.

She really should have known. He was laughing at her. Of course it would be hilarious that she, _she _wanted to go out with some one.

And then she looked back at Jack; hate in her misty eyes and they accused him icily: _How could you?_

"Oh my God!" Hastily whispered Jack, chuckling to himself, at her expense.

"You thought I was serious! Pathetic!"

Wren choked back a sob as the words spilt over her classmate's lips and tore through her flesh. Sharp and painful, they ripped deep gashes in her chest, her whole body shuddered as she felt them embed in her wildly beating heart. Quickly, she span round, hearing the scandal spread through the class right under the teachers nose.

So it was every day for the pastten months and counting… still counting and hoping it would fade away from memory, Wren fought to keep emotionless.

After all… wasn't she 'The Ice Maiden'?

A cruel nickname chosen by the crawling worms that stole her wits and confidence slowly over the months. They called her 'The Ice Maiden' because she had grown so used to the bullying that plagued her every day she showed no emotion in her face. But they saw it in her eyes.

To be truly honest she was petrified of these worms, and they knew it.

Every day would start the same. The same whispers. The same mocking glances her way. The same comments on her hair, face, shoes… anything that wasn't dictated by the school to merge in with the brainless crowd. Each remark struck her pride with acute force, making her hurt deep inside. At home she thought her cheeks would wear out from the tears she had shed behind the privacy of closed doors.

Her parents had no idea. They were always working, so she fell in to herself. Even if she worked so hard with her studies and almost worked her fingers to stubs upon her laptop at night, diving into the world of fantasy to escape the pain of her injured esteem, she still couldn't truly let it go. It was like a needle in her heart. You might think that she was being foolish, and that she should just stand up to them. Maybe she was. She had read enough letters in magazines to realize she was not alone and that there were ways of dealing with bullying. That is if your parents or school cared. Just by herself, she couldn't fight the rising wave of assault she got, until she felt like running long and hard until she ran herself out and collapsed into a ball, broken, exhausted and crying from lost joy.

But somehow she endured for months. Wren wasn't a brave girl. She didn't pretend to be. But she was stubborn. A strange sort of stubbornness that comes from hurting for so long settled over her as she tried in vain to blank out her attackers. If they were going to make her life hell, she wasn't going to let them enjoy it all that easily.

Wren winced. Another 'popular' girl had barged past, digging her book edges in to Wren's back, making her jerk away, suddenly.

She crouched low over her blotted work, hoping it wouldn't start up again. The sneers at her movements, the comments on her 'lank' hair, or her posture, were sure to come soon. And come they did…

"So… Wren… erm. We were thinking. Just how much grease _is _that in your hair? I bet you could start your own fast food shop with it." A girl called Michelle whispered in her ear as she passed. The bell had rung a few seconds before, but she was being held behind for some reason.

Surely it wasn't to do with the standard of her work? On the latest writing paper she was sure she had done well. Really well, actually.

Maybe the school had noticed how depressed she was and was willing to help her with her bullying? Wren's spirits rose. God knew she had tried to get their help before. All they had told herto ignore themand that it would soon be over.What did they know?

"Miss Craft?" Mr Barkthrew gruffly mumbled to Wren, and she nimbly stood and shyly made her way to the desk.

"Yes, Mr Barkthrew?" Timidly voiced Wren.

"Your paper…" Wren's mind jammed. No. It couldn't be. She had done so well!

"… You got an A as usual, but I wanted to ask you. Where did you get the inspiration?" He observed Wren suspiciously through bloodshot and heavily lidded eyes.

" The tale pangs of copying, Miss Craft, and I will not tolerate it. How did you come up with such a convincing story? I expect you to tell me, you know."

His large red face tipped to the side and he glared at Wren. His fat, podgy torso only just fitting behind the desk, his snug suit bulging obtusely.

"Miss Craft?" His voice was taking on a dangerous tone, and Wren backed away.

"Sir, I wrote it! I don't copy. I've never copied a story." Wren gasped, unable to say more. She already sounded like the rest of the class, whenever they used second hand material.

"I see…" Wren didn't like what that seemed to mean.

"I shall be informing the head teacher. Here is your paper. Now get out before I change my mind. I should in all honesty shred that piece of work," Wren paled, " But on this occasion I won't."

He finished scolding Wren, and she heard a titter outside. She turned to leave, walked through the door way and almost fell on top of five girls in her class.

The vipers had heard everything. They all spluttered in to withheld laughter and began to point their perfectly manicured fingers at her.Wren coolly pushed past them all as they stood in the dingy darkened corridor.

"So… Miss Perfect isn't so perfect after all, hmmmm?"

Michelle chirruped, a cruel leer gracing her make-up plastered face.

"So what was Mr Barkthrew getting so flustered about Wrenny? What _have_ you done? What's _that_?" She snatched at the story suddenly, and Wren gave it up, not wanting it to rip and knowing that Michelle would get her hands on it sooner rather than later.

"My, my, my… You have been busy! This is so detailed… Oh what a shame." She roughly seized a handful of the painfully precise work and promptly tore it in two, savagely grinning. Her pristinely white teeth flashed and her eyes scanned Wren's face for dismay.

"I seem to have been a little clumsy… Silly me!"

She tore it again, her mouth gaping open in mock horror.

"Oh… what's this?" Michelle began reading the half torn paper in mild interest.

"…Until the girl could no longer bare it. She lifted the child over her head and screamed, "Goblin King, Goblin King, where ever you maybe. Take this child of mine far away from me!" She eyed Wren with malice.

"Well, she's a poet too, ladies." She said to the girls behind her back, and they burst in to uncontrolled laughter.

"I must admit, you're more pathetic than I imagined! What else have you written then?" She looked down again.

"…I wish the … _goblins?_ …" She snorted at this. "…Would come and take you away… right n-"

"Give me that!" Wren grabbed the page, ripping it more, but she didn't care. Dropping the ruined paper to her feet, she abandoned the corridor, leaving those rats and her spoiled homework behind her. She reached for her beaten bag nearer the end of the corridor, took out her 'ugly' coat and ran for the door. She wouldn't let them see her cry again. It only gave them more power.

Outside it was raining heavily, the rain-washed pavement grey and glistening beneath Wren's feet. As the moisture fell on her uncovered hair her tears came. The rain was soothing to Wren. She could pretend she wasn't crying, and that people were not walking home with her because of the damp. It was nice to make believe now, and the world became a different place.

Wren had never been out with a boy, even at the age of forteen. She knew plenty about them, as she watched over the years. They had grown taller, their voice deeper, their attention always turned to the prettiest in the class. Naturally Michelle.

Wren knew she wasn't pretty. Well, if she made an effort she could look nice, but it wasn't in her. All the eyelash fluttering, and the hair flicking and the stress of what to wear to so-and-so's party next weekend, seemed childish to her. Nothing could compare to escaping into a book, away form the sting of the world. Which, as you should know by now, is what she frequently did.

Her eyes had grown used to the painful glare of the laptop screen, glistening with unlimited promise. What could she write about, she wondered. Soon her eyes would flash with sudden inspiration and her fingers would race across the keys. She cursed herself whenever she made a mistake, as she always did, and went back to spell check, losing her line of thought. She daydreamed of these stories along the way to her house, but the gentle pang of regret over her latest work tugged at her mind. There was always the copy on her computer, but the words of her teacher who hadn't believed her astonished cries rang through her headuntil she was dizzy. How could someone think that of her?

Hadn't she done enough over the years? She worked so hard, only to get the name Swot, Brainiac or Nerd branded upon her. And then, whenever, heaven _forbid,_ she would get a question wrong or acted out of place, she was condemned to shrill laughter or shrieks of triumphant glee at her mistake.

No. She didn't deserve it, but she had learnt over the months that nobody got what they deserved in reality. The good guys lose, because they play fair. They have no secret push up or cheat. They have only themselves in this oppressive and bleak world. And Wren wept for herself, although, not long after these tears came, her eyes ached and her tears turned cold and full of hate.

Wren was forced, headlong back to reality, and she felt sharp needles of ice crash against her bare legs and pale face. Hailstones had begun to fall and pushed Wren into a sprint for home. All the while being cascaded with cold, fierce missiles that stung her vulnerable flesh. Her wet school uniform clung to her like a second, sombre grey, skin, and she shivered violently. Small goose bumps riddled her skin, and her shoes where full of water as she arrived at her front porch. The dim electric light had short wired years ago, but she still longed for it's gentle glow through the drizzling rain, regardless.

Maybe her parents would be home? Maybe they would have fixed the porch light? Perhaps they would remember that she had asked them for a new load of floppy disks, as she was running dangerously low on hard-drive space.

But no. As she shunted to a halt outside the front door, she looked up expectantly at the little orb above her and found it dismally cold and devoid of light. She sighed. It was never lit. Sadly she rummaged in her bag for her rusty house keys. She found them at the bottom of her bag and scrapped her hand on a lost compass that she could only find if she stabbed herself with it.

It was one of those quirky things she had learned to treasure, like the milk float going past on a Saturday morning, rousing her from her sleep, while she lay still, listening to the peace and quiet of an empty house. Her parents always left before the little vehicle showed up, and came back late at night, so Wren felt she was alone most of the time. And that was exactly how she liked it. Calm and silent, the pastel walls of her parents house did not insult or hurt her, but stared resolutely back at her, as did the furniture and paintings.

Sweet serenity she would call it.

Although, as the hours wore on and the ticking of the clocks became more and more intense, she did get lonely. She longed for someone to talk to, to share secrets with, to giggle with at odd things they said or did or thought. These longings often ended in aching eyes and dripping cheeks, and Wren would get frustrated at her swinging moods.

Jangling the keys merrily, pretending she was happy, she was screaming inside. In all truth, Wren's parents were quite wealthy, but Wren would give up even her precious laptop for _one_ friend. But it was hopeless to dream. Dreams never amounted to anything in her life.

She rammed her keys in to the heavy lock, scrapped the mechanism, and shoved her right shoulder against the door.

"Ah!" Wren took in a sharp breath through her clenched teeth as she fell into the hall way, the wooden floor whacking her left knee and she brought it up to stop her fall. Her bag fell onto her, winding her as she rolled on to her back.

She had forgotten. Her right shoulder had been the same shoulder Michelle had smashed into a wall in the cloakroom yesterday, and it was still tender, as it had bruised badly.

Cursing her own clumsiness, Wren made to stand up. As she hauled herself to her feet, her bag swinging dangerously on her arm, she felt a twinge of pain in her knee.

_Damn it! Another thing to look out for! _She thought irritably.

She fought off her coat, getting it caught in the straps of her bag, which were flailing around as she danced to and fro, in a vain attempt to detangle herself from the mess.

_Urgh! I really don't have time for this. _Now _I'm pissed off!_

She flung her arms up in despair, ripping the coat from her shoulders and depositing the attackers next to the sofa. She would deal with them later; no doubt her parents would come through the door and see them first off.

Wren decided to write a little to vent her frustration into her story, this way only fictional characters got hurt as they expressed her anger.

_Hmmm,_ She pondered, _I wonder what the King of the Goblins would look like in a paddy?_ She chuckled to herself, holding on to that thought. It had been such a long time since she last laughed.

Soon, however, she remembered her lost masterpiece,_ Labyrinth._

She had worked on that for weeks, and had only just finished it in time for the dead line. Now it probably lay scattered on the dusty floor in a darkened corridor at school, or crushed in a disgusting trashcan with old lunches and sticky wrappers all over it. Wren almost cried out in fury at that thought, and the notion of a moody Goblin king throwing things at his squirming subjects couldn't lighten her mood.

Climbing the carpeted, mahogany staircase, Wren dragged her worn feet to each step, counting as she went. Thirteen. 'Unlucky for some', and 'some' was exactly who she was.

But, as Wren made her painful way into her room, carefully trying to bend her knee as little as possible and failing, she thought about the rest of the story to _The_ _Labyrinth._

She noticed how similar she was to the young girl who stole the monarch's heart.

_Sure_, she thought_. I'm no beauty, and I don't have a wicked stepmother or an annoying little brother, but I'm still sick of some things in my life, and would very gladly wish them away._

She stumbled suddenly, and hit the doorframe, making her mouth gape in a silent scream of pain.

_I can't believe I did that! Oh, it's not fair! I hate myself!_

She slumped on to her bed and massaged her sore joint, sucking in her breath if she woke a fresh wave of throbbing.

A barrage of tears enveloped her as she remembered the look on Jack's face as she nodded. That face would be burnt into her eyes so she would always see it when she fell asleep. He had hurt her so much.

"Well at least I'm not a slave I guess." She muttered to herself as she stretched it out, busily wiping away tears fiercely.

"I bet I'm so bland that nothing would happen to _me_ if _I _said 'I wish the goblins would come and take me away, right now.'" She sighed, shaking her sorry head.

"Well then, I suppose you've just _lost_ that bet, my dear." A deep, velvety voice filled the small room, sounding like it had just been poured from a pitcher.

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Read and review! If you do, you get a little shout out at the end of my chapters! Go on, the button's right there! Think of me doing a little happy dance. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, here's the other chapter. As always, I don't own Jareth etc, but I do own Wren Craft. If you steal her, I will hunt you down. No, I wouldn't but I'd be extremely upset. She's mine, not yours. Ask, and you may recieve! Oh, and PLEASE read and review! I'd really love reviews. I can't stress this enough, I ADORE reviews. I dance everytime I get one. Don't you want to make me dance? Yes? Then review!**

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**Chapter Two: - A Striking Resemblance**

"Well then, I suppose you've just _lost_ that bet, my dear." A deep, velvety voice filled the small room, sounding like it had just been poured from a pitcher.

Wren did not jump, but she _did_ stop what she was doing. She stared at her knee as if _it_ had been the one talking, but she knew better.

An authoress _always_ knows her own work, even if it was living, breathing and even speaking to her. She knew. It was him. The King of the Goblins. And he was about to take her up on her offer. She shut her eyes in exasperation. "Why?" She asked without looking up, indulging him. She was not asking him why he had won the bet, because to be fair, she had forgotten what she had said to bring him here. She merely wondered why something this remarkable was happening to her.

Jareth took a moment. He too knew she wasn't expecting an answer. This was not the usual reaction to his presence. For one, the girl did not even look up. It seemed as if she had expected him to come. No one meant what they said these days, but this girl knew the words without them having been whispered to her. This was very odd. On top of this, she didn't scream, run or cry like the others did. There was no regret in her voice, only blatant curiosity. But most of all, she didn't even care to look at him after he had made such an effort to get here and he was, after all, royalty.

That was what enraged him the most.

But, being the Goblin King, Jareth was well versed in keeping his emotions and feelings to himself, so he merely leaned against the pastel wall to his right, crossed his arms smugly and said in a voice that sounded like it was coated in warm caramel;

"Interesting… I see you expected me. Not surprising, all things considered… However where _did_ you find those words? _Do_ tell."

There was a definite icy undertone to his voice, which he let the girl hear.

Then she did something that really shocked him.

She looked up at him as soon as she heard his cold tone, and laughed.

She had the nerve to laugh!

Her eyes lit up, her mouth stretched and her mirth sounded hollow and strange, as if she didn't laugh much at all, and was quite out of practice.

"Your exactly how I imagined you to be!" She whispered, after she had stopped laughing, her eyes crinkling.

She stood up slowly, wincing slightly as she made her way towards Jareth, who stood, quiet taken aback, but highly curious. His eyes narrowed and he stood straight, hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to think of what to do to punish her. He strode forward, anger rising in him. He cocked his head to the side, and gave her a look that told her she was going to pay for that laugh. But Wren gave him no heed. She was drinking in his image, as if he might at anytime vanish completely. Wren paced around him, looking him up and down as he did the same as her, but he merely followed her with his eyes as she circled him. He was dressed in an intimidating black cloak that hung upon his frame with a sort of arrogant carelessness, the collar brushing his jaw. And his hair! It fell haphazardly from his head in streaks of blonde, framing his narrow face with an art-like grace, falling in to his deep, deep eyes. One golden, like sand, the other unfathomable like the sea, only without the comfort of the shore.

Wren was enchanted by the accuracy of whoever was stood in front of her and her portrayal of him in her mind. Never, even in the book, had she written him down so precisely, yet he looked like a twin of the man in her mind. His face wore a kind of quizzical expression, with hidden mirth behind those amazing eyes. His nose was pinched, which in no means decreased his handsome appearance, but merely make him look dangerous and authoritative. The air shone, a little like it does around a flame, all around him, and it sparkled with almost tangible magic. Wren was speechless. He was perfect. He was in every sense of the words, The Goblin King.

"Amazing…" She whispered breathlessly.

Jareth on the other hand, saw a girl, with an incredibly pale, worn out face, with huge, purple shadows, as if some one had smudged pastel under her eyes. Her freckles stood out vividly with her chestnut hair that fell over her ears to her shoulders, where it flicked untidily out wards, perhaps because it was covered in moisture - from the rain, no doubt. Her dramatically wide hazel eyes shone with joy, flecked with green-gold and her dark lashes coated them, so they seemed confined. Her mouth was open, as if she had seen something that wasn't entirely believable, and her lips had the tiniest smile playing upon them. She wasn't beautiful, not exactly, but she didn't have layers and layers of make-up caked on her face like so many of the young mothers he had visited. She looked about seventeen, but was very petite for someone as old as that. She had a dismal grey uniform on, that had seen better days, and was as damp as her hair. She was cold, he could see her trembling, and beads of wet were running down her face. Her lashes also were sodden, but he could tell they were from tears.

And the most puzzling thing about this thin, shaking girl was the look in her eyes. She looked happy to see him. In fact she looked enraptured. She looked like a very proud parent, who had seen their child do great things. This, in itself was very strange, and Jareth wasn't sure what to make of her.

He had never been in such a situation. He had had screaming, crying or shouting mortals, or even flirtatious ones, but Jareth didn't think this girl was taken by his looks like _that._ He hoped not anyway. Those occasions had been very awkward.

Jareth was becoming uneasy under the gaze of this girl, but he didn't show it. He rarely showed his true feelings to anyone, let alone mortal 'wishers'. She looked very strange to be a wisher, though. Very strange indeed.

Jareth contemplated her for a moment longer. She held his gaze for some reason, and his magic tickled his palms, like it did when something was not right. And she was not right. He believed there to be more to her than what met the eye.

Breaking the silence that had filled the small room, Wren deliberately said, " You're him, aren't you. You're the Goblin King."

It was an old line. He suspected this was why she chose it. It had been written down for years. It was meant to be a question, like the book stated, but this girl said it without uncertainty, like it was a plain fact. Like she just knew.

"Indeed, but who are _you_, child?" His voice was supposed to be daunting, but she brushed this off, as if she expected little better from him.

He had tried to find out who she was, like he did with other wishers, but she didn't react to his gentle mind probing. What was the matter with him? Or her?

"Me?" Wren looked confused.

"There's something about you. Why don't I know who you are? What magic are you using to resist me? _Speak!_ "

Jareth had taken several steps towards her, cat-like and dominating. His figure towered above her, but strangely she wasn't afraid. After all, she had written him. He took her slim jaw roughly in his gloved hands, not caring that he pinched her skin, or that she tried to step away. She struggled slightly, but Jareth hissed his annoyance and his eyes flashed, Wren stilled. He turned her eyes to his, and tried to contact her mind, or someway of finding out who this mysterious girl was. It infuriated him that he couldn't access her mind to see who, or _what_ she was.

"Be still." He said this very quietly, his face inches from hers, eyes searching for her fear. It raced across her eyes, she blinked, and he saw… he saw…

"I…I'm Wren Craft. I wrote you, _all_ of you. _Everything_, from the Goblin City to you, to everything you have. Even…even that…" She looked away to something around his chest, and back again. Her breath tickled his face and stirred the stray white-blonde hairs that hung over his forehead. He realised she meant his amulet. He hadn't heard what she had said. He had seen something in her soul and was trying to track it. He saw her fear grow, felt her trembling, but her voice was steady.

She was well aware that a Goblin King was towering over her. Something of her own creation had come to life, and was terrorising her in her own room. She felt so stupid, what the hell was going on?

She tried to wiggle away again but he held her fast.

Jareth found what he was looking for, a spark in her eye lead him to who she was. But there was a great dark mass in her mind. A great deal of pain, humiliation and hate. She looked so innocent. So pure. Yet she possessed such scorching hatred, he almost jumped back, stunned. She was smart, and _young._ His estimate was way off. She was not but fourteen.

"A _child_." Without realising it, he had spoken aloud, letting the wonder and confusion fill his voice. His hand slipped form her chin, and he retreated. Her past words caught up with him, and he blinked, severing the connection.

"_You_ wrote the Labyrinth. _Impossible_! You're so young, girl. How could you possibly have written it?" Disbelief filled his strained voice.

Wren did not like being examined at the best of times. She liked being analysed even less. But what she really hated was having her work criticised.

"I assure you, I _did_." Angry with him, Wren opened the laptop savagely, and stared at him with poison in her eyes.

"Look for yourself!" She thrust the laptop screen to him, but he shielded his eyes and hissed, "What the-! How can you bear such unnatural light?"

She shook her head again. Then looked at the screen. It was blank. Her work was gone.

"Where is it? Where's _The Labyrinth_?" Her eyes betrayed her horror and confusion; her weeks of work were oblivion, lost somehow in the depths of cyber space.

"I don't believe it! It was right here when I turned it to you!"

Jareth had an inkling what may have happened, but that was accepting that this child had, in fact, written the script that had founded his world, an idea that would have been unacceptable.

"I have a much better idea." He said, glaring at the laptop with dislike.

He conjured a crystal orb and swirled it in his hands, clothed in black gloves, making it dance from side to side, watching her with fascination as Wren refused to look directly at it. He grew bored and finally turned it in to a manuscript. A scarlet leather bound book was in his grasp; the words _The Labyrinth_ were emblazed upon the cover, the golden tinted pages shining in the dim light that had found it's way into her window past the rain and sleet.

Lightning lit the cover with an eerie light and Wren moved closer to Jareth, peering in astonishment at her resurrected work. Timidly Wren extended her hand towards the novel, eyes bright, but eyebrows raised in scepticism. Running a hand over the soft leather, as if to feel it was real, she accidentally brushed a tip of a gloved finger with her own and stole her hand back. Her eyes jerked to his, embarrassed at the slight contact. He smirked softly as colour rushed to her pale cheeks, her eyes wide. A crash of thunder sounded, rumbling deep and long, irregular and it vibrated the house.

"Is it real? I know you can make illusions to trick and torment people. I thought it was destroyed. It was certainly destroyed. Wasn't it…?"

Her rhetorical question was barely breathed but he heard it.

"This book," He began, "Founded my entire heritage, everything I stand for. You couldn't have written it. No one knows who wrote it. All there is, is this…"

His eyes searched her face for any lie, but this was her own work.

_How? It was impossible._

He flipped the dust jacket open, and indicated to a little symbol on the inside of the book, near the title. There, in black printed ink was a small bird. It's wings looked badly broken, as they were at odd angles to the small body. It's eyes looked without seeing, and its neck was twisted in a grotesque position. It was, quite clearly, dead. The ink was a solid midnight black, and there was no deception to be had from it. Wren gasped as soon as the cover had been opened, and shook in surprise and fear.

"That bird. You know what it is, don't you?" Said Wren, so faint she sounded like she was about to lose consciousness.

"Yes," The King of the Goblins leaned closer to the bewildered, scared girl, whose face was colourless once more.

"Would you care to tell me why it is dead, girl?" Jareth's lips hardly moved as he was looking so fixedly at Wren's eyes.

Wren could only pick the book out of Jareth's lax hands and examine it more closely, alarm etched into every line of her face.

"It's a trick!" Wren's face clouded over, and she had suspicion in her eyes. She dropped the book to the floor, her small hands shaking. She barely noticed as it landed on the floor without a thud, and evaporated, a little like smoke.

Jareth could have sworn he saw betrayal reflected in those eyes, saw hate flare up.

_Poor humans_, he thought. _They try so hard to block out the magical. She is no different._

"Who paid you to do this? _WHO_? Did Michelle tell you to _break into my house _and put on this rouse, because I have had _enough_ of this?

Get _out_! _Get out_! I _hate_ you. I hate _all _of you. I had thought that she had gone too far with that note, but _this_!"

She screamed at him, calling him every vile name she could think of, while she threw heavy objects at him.

"Ahhh! Get _out_!" She cried, tears flowing down her face, which was contorted in rage. Jareth stared at her, her sweet face showed genuine sorrow and shock.

SMASH! Her lamp was thrown to the ground after an exasperated Goblin King deflected it.

"I thought… for a moment… you were real! I thought you were _him_! But no! I'm never allowed to dream, am I? Damn you to hell! I almost trusted you! I thought you were real…." The tears were coming freely now, as she lost some of her aim. Her right shoulder was aching, and he was just dropping the things as he caught them, it seemed. She didn't care if the things she was saying were to be used against her. She just wanted to hurt the man in front of her with all the might she possessed.

She howled again, eyes burning. She looked as though she was about to collapse, and Jareth felt a strange pity for the girl. She must be tormented indeed to behave like this.

"I must say, you're a _very _good _actor_, you bastard!" More objects were hurled at the enraged King.

"Damn you, wench! Are you sane, or has the pressure of being caught lying driven you mad?" Jareth seethed, watching her grow further into a fury, things of hers flying across the room to join their shattered companions. He was not used to being treated with so little respect before. His own anger flared. He could sense the dark area of her mind developing, and swirling, getting stronger. He didn't like to think what she would do next, even though she was just a child, she had a good aim.

"And I have a name! I am Wren! I am not some urchin from the street, however I look to you! Your _Highness_!" She spat at him. She didn't care what he did. I couldn't be worse to what she already got.

Jareth's head snapped up, fire in his eyes.

_How dare this brat insult me so! She will pay._

With a roar, he threw her against the walls, pinning her there with some unseen magic. Again her right shoulder cushioned her blow against the wall, and she felt her head snap back, bashing the ceiling with an audible smack. Crying out in torment, she felt a white-hot pain shoot up her arm, and then every thing became blurred and hazy and slow, then darkness enclosed her.

The sound ripped through Jareth's soul, so terrified, she collided with the wall, he saw her twitch her neck, saw her shoulder droop as it made contact, and heard her shoulder make a disgusting, unnatural sound. The scream burned his ears, and her expression of pain and sadness, hurt and longing filled his eyes with moisture. Her whimper sounded like a wounded bird, as she fell to the ground, eyes screwed shut, then all her tense muscles relaxed, and the child was silent once more. Looking down Jareth almost wretched. What had he done? All anger at that innocent teenager evaporated just looking at her limp body sprawled on the peach carpet.

Her legs were folded inwards together neatly, her body laid out. One arm was up over her head in a strange position, but the other was completely broken. The shoulder was twisted away, the arm lifeless and pale. The fingers slightly curled. Her neck also was at a bewildering slant to her body, the chin thrust out, cheeks drained with a dusting of freckles to mar the perfect white of her face. Her hair was splayed out as well, partially covering her right arm, revealing her long swan neck.

She looked exactly like the ink stamp. No. She _was_ the ink signature on the book. She had to be. So vulnerable, naïve, and completely beautiful. She looked like she had died in an accident, but was perfectly preserved. As he looked, a trickle of crimson trailed from the corner of her mouth.

Jareth was shaking violently, as he knelt down beside the babe, for babe she was in such a defenceless state. He thought fleetingly about how he was acting. It wasn't natural of him. He didn't know this girl. Why was her death affecting him so? But strangely, the thought drained away, leaving only shock and concern. A surge of disgust filled him. Before, he had been the King of Goblins. He was a forceful ruler, true, but he didn't attack lesser-defended creatures. He was a monster.

Was she dead? He had not meant to kill her; his temper had merely overrun him. He felt such regret, he almost wept for her, and he felt his eyes sting with suppressed emotion.

_No, wait. _

Very gently, almost reverently, Jareth lifted the girl's hand to his cheek, feeling the warmth against his cool skin. With two fingers he sought her pulse upon her paper like skin. He could clearly see the blue veins in her wrist. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he tenderly stroked her hand, waiting in vain to feel the silent thump of life. Laying her left hand down again, he finally found her pulse in the hollow of her throat, and felt the slow, rhythmic pound of her dear heart. She was still alive.

_Thank the Gods._

Jareth silently prayed. He ran a hand over the poor girl's head, tucking his slim fingers underneath, cradling her skull, and without a sound did the same under her knees. In one smooth movement he had picked her up swiftly, and took a fleeting look at her peaceful face, watching to see if she stirred. When she did not, he laid her upon the bed in a more comfortable position, and timidly leant over her unconscious body. She moaned softly, her face warping in to a frown. Jareth hushed her, caressing her forehead, only half aware that he did so. It seemed he had no control, like some second self already knew what to do. He took his hand back, and gazed at it. Why was he behaving like this?

The only reason he had thrown her against the wall was to hurt her enough to scare her into submission. But he had forgotten. She was not a goblin. Jareth felt empty. This girl had simply gotten over upset. That was no reason to attack her so. She was utterly defenceless when it came to magic, as her sprawled and exposed body told him. If she had any power what so ever, a magical assault like that would have boosted her magic to protect her. A hazy sort of ache filled Jareth's mind until he was sick with it. The girl moaned again, and Jareth immediately began to soothe her. The feeling retreated. What was this feeling? Thinking about what he had done made him feel weak, and gazing at her upon the bed was worse still.

Then it hit him. _Guilt_. He was feeling guilt.

Tears had dried on Wren's cheeks, and her arm looked swollen and painful. Jareth knew he had to take her back to the castle, beyond the Goblin City, since Wren's condition was getting worse. Her eyelids fluttered occasionally. Even if she hadn't been wished away, he would have taken her. It was his fault she was in such a condition, so he too would have to be the remedy. He put a hand to her skull again, and felt warm, sticky liquid coat his dark gloves. This was not good. In the human world Jareth predicted Wren would go into a coma, or suffer concussion at the least. He began to pick her up again, thinking he could transport them both that way, but she gave a strangled cry, her eyes flew open, and she grasped hold of the front of Jareth's cloak. Her hands were shaking, feverishly, and her lips were cracked from the blood that covered her teeth and mouth thickly. The delicate trickle had found it's way down to her chin. Her pupils were dilated differently from each other, but what frightened Jareth the most was that the shriek that filled his ears was not human. It sounded as fluent and high pitched as a birdcall, but was strained with fear and agony. One pupil was hugely black, glinting oddly, and the other almost had no pupil at all, only deep, profound brown. She was trembling violently.

"Jareth…" She choked; her sob was coarse from the tears in her throat, and the pleading in her eyes, as the blood from her skull matted her hair. Wren's body shuddered, then slumped, her cracked head falling to his shoulder once again, but her hands didn't let go. They threaded through his shirt to wrap around his amulet, warm from Jareth's skin. Her breathing did not slow, either, and stayed haggard and raspy.

_Gods, have mercy upon this child._ He thought desperately, as he felt her heart slow down precariously. Then she stopped breathing. Jareth could no longer feel the rise of her chest. An electrical surge of panic made him shake. She couldn't die. He reached down, craning his neck until his forehead came in contact with hers, and closed his eyes. His breath became slow, and he held her slightly tighter as the room peeled away from the two figures.

It was only then that Jareth realised that he had not told her his name. Nor was it written in _The Labyrinth._

_

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Shout outs go to:-

Wolf.At.Heart: Guess what? As is my tradition, first reviewer gets the dedication. So, this chapters for you! Thank you for your wonderful review! You made my day!

Nemo: Thanks for your... unique review. It was great! ;) Glad you liked the chapter. wo.OT!

MYBIGBLUEBOX: Thank you! hugs teh muchly You have to see this film. Everybody, doesn't she? It's a great film! jarethy goodness!

Ocean Fairy: Thank you for your review. Don't you just hate it when your accused of cheating.. to be fair, I DO cheat, but it's the principle of the thing! ;) And yes, I'm happily dancing away now! .: Dancity:.

Anij: Rants are welcome in my reviews. As long as they are slightly relevant, I'm all ears, lol. Nice to get off your chest, no? Thanks for the review!

And to my friend Soraya, I know you're out there reading this... Leave a review! Lookie at the pretty button down there! Press it! Please?


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, I don't own Jareth, I never have and I never will...:sniff:. But I do own Wren Craft, so if you want to borrow her, don't just kidnap her, just ask, and she might say yes! Big shouts go out to my reviewers and as always, my Beta, Deacon Sabbath. By the way, if you liked this fanfiction, please review. Even if you didn't like it, let me know. I accept critism, and even flames! The more reviews I get, the more I dance, and the faster the next chapter is written and posted, kay?

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_**Chapter 3: - An Unexpected Act**_

Jareth almost buckled as he came to stand in a new guest room he had just recently made for the motionless form in his arms. He felt incredibly drained, but he had to help her. Some unconscious need to look over this child drove him, and he couldn't think, couldn't understand why. There was no time.

The girl weighed practically nothing, and Jareth wondered how she could have thrown all those objects at him if she was so tiny. He barely noticed that her blood-soaked hair had badly ruined his shirt where she had laid her head.

Gravely, he laid her down upon the large bed, but grimaced at how insignificant she looked on it. Her arm was still crooked and her head left a dark, crimson stain on the white linen. She appeared so fragile in her current state, and Jareth noticed that her face was almost the same shade as the sheets.

Jareth bent over her once more, assessing the damage done by himself and the fall. He could very well have called the healer, but he felt safer that the girl be in his hands. Also, he could heal her with some of his own magic, rare as it was that a King would stoop so low as to personally give a subject his attentions. This schoolgirl was owed that at the very least. If she died, he would have it on no other hands but his.

Making sure no noise was made, he called a goblin that was stood outside to find her some clothes. Preferably practical ones, as he felt sure Wren would favour breeches over gowns. Closing the door soundlessly, he took off his cloak and tossed it carelessly onto a chair, where his jacket, waistcoat and gloves joined it. He ran a slim hand through his mass of hair and sank on to the bed. After careful inspection, Jareth estimated that it would take about three hours in all for him to reset her bones, mend her skull, and to simulate enough blood to save her. He began to crack his fingers in turn, limbering them up for the magic that was about to course through them. He hoped she would be able to handle how much energy he was going to use, as he knew she didn't have any magic ability. If she reacted badly to such power, she might go into shock.

He felt the familiar burning flame flow through his fingers. It was not a new experience, and Jareth was very used to it. It was somewhat comforting to know that if anything were to go amiss, he could always fall back upon his magic. Of course, he was supposed to rely on himself before magic, but he had gotten in to the habit. He cast around the room, and looked at the pale face of the girl.

_Please let this work._

Jareth begged to some unknown force. He did not want to mortally wound the child once more. He didn't know how strong she was.

_Let her be safe._

He had given up on attempting to analyse his feelings toward this girl. There was no time to do anything except make a decision. Save her, or leave her to die. And Jareth, however cruel he was, and for some reason, could not let her die. Jareth gradually twisted around, so he was leaning almost directly over Wren. Her lips were rusty brown. Not naturally, however. They were covered with blood, crusted and dry, coating her mouth.

Breathing shallowly, as his chest had begun to constrict painfully, he channelled his power through his hands, laying them upon her temples. He expected something to happen, anything. He knew that it would, as she was mortal, their bodies would not be able to cope with such power from one source. But Wren just lay there, as silent as ever, her life trickling back in to her through Jareth's hands.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Jareth felt her skull reform, the crack repair itself. Her blood stopped seeping into the bed covers. Jareth realised this was going to take less time then he thought, as she wasn't struggling against his hands or magic. It seemed like she was used to it, in fact.

Suddenly, he felt weak, his vision span and he fell forward onto the bed, keeping his fingers upon her cool brow.

An image floated to his mind, pain seared through his left arm as he saw the flash of a blade, and the leering smiles of children slightly older then Wren.

Another excruciating memory came, and he almost cried out as he felt a fist of a mean looking girl collide with his jaw, and then stomach. Falling to his knees, Jareth looked up. The girl was grinning manically, her phone aloft, her fingers whirring across the buttons until she said; "Say cheese!"

He drew on his magic, and began to panic when he felt it was not there. Tears slipped down his face, and he lifted a hand to still them, he saw his hand was much smaller, and the nails chipped and bitten down.

Wren's hand wiped away the stray tears.

_This was Wren's memory_, Jareth realised, as he came out of the vision. He noted he was sprawled across the bed, his hands however, never straying from Wren's skull. Why was this happening? He did not try to read her mind, but it seemed like he had stumbled into her dark cloud.

He took in that he was sweating quite heavily now, the thin shirt sticking to his back as beads of sweat ran down his face to soak in to his hair. The task was gruelling and hard, as he was not used to it, but he knew he mustn't stop. He was obligated to help her. She took in a shallow gasp as he felt the last rib crack in to place, and she shivered. She too was sweating, and shivering violently. Jareth knew it must be from fever, as her body would not have worked as hard as it did without some expense.

He went over to his cloak and stretched it out to cover her trembling figure. He stooped over her to check the bones, and gracefully kissed her forehead. In some small way it was to say; _forgive me_.

He stopped. What was he doing?

Wren mumbled something that resembled, "No! Don't… You're hurting me…"

Jareth frowned, then stood to leave, deciding he would let her rest, pondering what the visions had meant. _Surely they hadn't been memories?_ Even so, he would get Wren to explain what they were.

THUMP…THUMP-THUMP...THUMP-THUMP…

Wren's heart filled her ears, vibrating through her whole body, making her chest shudder. Her head hurt so much, she could hardly keep conscious. She heard breathing. Not her own, either. It was slow and regular like sleep.

She decided to leave exploration of this until after she opened her eyes, and she was still working on that. Her throat ached determinedly; making sure slumber was out off the question.

She remembered little of what had happened, if something had happened… Had it?

She was stretched out on a very soft bed, and she could smell the faint hints of bird feathers through the thick undyed linen. The sheets were clean, but hadn't been used in a long time, so reeked of forgotten things. The material that covered her was heavy and warm, and luxuriably soft under her fingers. It had a faint odour of stone and hay, animals and earth, and the slight tang of sweat. Under all this, however, was something exotic and unknown to her nose, and made her nostrils flare and smart.

She stroked the fabric slowly, revelling in the whisper it made. Murmuring in approval, she snuggled deeper into the bed, the cloth extremely comforting. She didn't know where she was, but for the time being she didn't care.

After a few vain attempts at sleep though, she prepared to accept the possibility of opening her eyes. She clutched the wonderful material again, taking in its strange scent, and sighed.

There was calm silence except for her own breathing.

Wait… wasn't there another person here, or did she dream it? She strained to hear the peaceful breath of the unknown visitor, but instead heard the creak of leather, and the musical hum of a fully awake person.

Her own breathing quickened, her pulse raced. Who was this person?

She took a chance and timidly opened her sleepy eyes, as she was sure she was facing whoever it was. Light streamed in and blinded her, making her gasp in pain. She shut her eyes again quickly, cursing her reflexes.

Too late. She heard the rustle of clothing, and the sound of someone rising from a chair. Then heavy footsteps click across the room to stop next to her. They knelt down and she felt a cool slim hand brush away loose curls from her forehead. She lent slightly into his hand, enjoying being fussed over for once. The fingers traced her eyes, and stroked her cheek, so softly she felt an ache when he stopped.

"Oh what will I do with you?" He breathed, slightly amused.

"You," She began to say, but a squeak met her ears, so she started again. She licked her dry lips with a rough tongue, and found hard, cracked residue. She realized she was desperately thirsty and hungry for some unknown reason, but out of shyness, or shock, she didn't dare ask for refreshments from an unfamiliar person.

"You _could _send me home."

Opening bleary eyes once more, tears met the crisp air around her and stung. Through the bright light she saw a face of a man with a straight nose, thin lips and a tangle of unruly hair, a little like the mane on an alpha male lion.

But most strange were his striking eyes.

She jerked, everything came rushing back, and she scrambled away from the kind man, who she now identified as the cruel and forceful Goblin King. She swayed as the blood rushed to her pounding head, but she shook it off, back propped against the headboard. She gripped the blanket tightly, as if the King may rip it from her unexpectedly.

"You!" Her voice sounded strained and raspy, and she half choked in to a coughing fit.

"I suggest you drink something." With out looking away from her, Jareth flicked a crystal across his wrists and turned it into a small goblet of clear water.

Hesitantly, Wren stretched out a frail hand, but drew back.

"Is…" She coughed again "…is it safe?" She managed to get out.

Jareth blinked, and answered, chortling.

"Yes, of course, girl… ah… Wren." He said, eyes glittering as he corrected himself.

She took the goblet, and drained it quickly, letting the cool liquid flow over her lips and tongue.

The sharp tang of blood was rich upon her lips as she licked away any moisture, and she grimaced. Reaching up she wiped the back of her hand crossways on her lip, and blanched when she saw the crimson trail across her milky skin.

"You threw me, and… Where am I?" She demanded, her voice saturated with poison.

"You are in my castle, the Goblin Castle if you will." His eyes showed withheld mirth, that reminded Wren too well of the girls from her class. Her brow creased in confusion.

"But you're _not real_! You can't be! I wrote you… you… I…Why? Just explain what the hell is going on here…" She started, earning a scowl from a disgruntled Goblin King.

"…What…who are you?" She glared at him, trying to stare him down. Unfortunately Jareth knew exactly what she was doing, since he used this often, and promptly ignored her silent insult.

"You know very well who I am." Jareth decided he wasn't going to get anywhere with her if she still believed him false, so wanted to straighten out this misunderstanding.

"No! You're not him! You can't be…" Frantically described Wren, and she shrugged off her coverlet, sitting more comfortably, but still perched on the bed ready to sprint to the door if something…odd were to happen. She had heard too many stories of rape and murder of young girls like herself to be at ease with this man.

"I assure you I am." He coolly interjected, aware of how scared she appeared. Her eyes were wide, and her chest was rising and falling quickly.

"How can I believe you? You're a fake because _The Labyrinth isn't_ real. I wrote it. I should know." Her chin jutted out, and she crossed her arms.

"You wouldn't like me to show you, believe me…" Jareth finished with barely a whisper, guilt etched into the lines on his face.

"Liar! You're a paedophile, aren't you! Well you can forget it! I'm not about to sleep with you! I'd rather cease living."

With that she jumped off the bed, screaming with all her might. The goblet crashed to the floor, spinning away under her feet as she dashed across the room to the door, where she desperately wrenched at the doorknob. Her legs, however, gave out as she was scrabbling with the lock, and she dropped to the floor, tears mingling down her pink cheeks.

Why is the room spinning? 

Strong hands hoisted her up, digging under her flailing arms to discard her back onto the mattress.

"Wait. Before you…" Wren shuddered. " Why? Why come into my house and take me away?" She asked in a hoarse voice.

"I am not going to sleep with you, if that puts your mind at rest. You talk of me as if I were no better than a criminal. I will tell you only once that it is unwise to converse so with the ruler of the goblin realm." He added, all laughter had drained from his voice, and she looked at him, unblinking, waiting for him to fly into a rage as he did within her house before he threw her at the wall.

Her head swirled and she couldn't think straight. Was this the Goblin King, who he appeared to be? He couldn't be, so that left only one option.

"Also, in answer to your other insolent questions, you know very well why you are here, and why I brought you." He began to thread a globe through his fingers; well aware that Wren's eyes were caught and held by its glittering movements. He looked up from the sphere, gazing at her once more, as she looked on at the crystal. Then her eyes cleared from their glassy condition, and fixed on Jareth again.

"No. You can't _fool_ me like that… _Wait.' _Her hand flew to her lips. It was shaking. 'Only the Goblin King the can do that… You're…but that's _impossible."_

Unsteadily she got to her feet yet again, but held up a hand to Jareth when he came to stop her.

"Just… give me a second…" Suspicion riddled her voice, but she sounded so sure, Jareth humoured her. She stumbled on the stone floor, noting the thick carpet of dust, as she made her shaky way to the large, pane less window.

As she reached it she looked down, and to her horror saw a city. A goblin city. Small scraggly creatures bustled about carrying food, tools, and some were carrying squirming chickens. More birds pecked away at the dirt, as feet occasionally kicked them out the way. In the centre of the city, she saw a small square, where a fountain with no water stood, solitarily. The cracked pavement beneath it showed many weeds poking through searching for sunlight.

Wren heard a distinct clank, and leaned further over the sill to catch a glimpse of a company of goblin soldiers march stiffly round a corner in a worn down street. They wore heavy, stained metal breastplates, and tarnished leather tunics, some too large for the owners, so they dragged upon the floor. Curled toes strode forth, swirling the dry earth. Battle helmets with long, merciless spikes obscured their faces.

The buildings looked patched and weather beaten, some held up by precarious arches, which looked like they were to fall on passers by any time.

And, most incredible was the miles and miles of land that looked like it had been scarred with jagged lightning, reaching into the horizon. The walls twisted and writhed like a live thing, snapping and shuddering as the paths themselves changed to the dismay of the challengers who were lost somewhere near the start.

The great Labyrinth stretched as far as Wren's neck could crane, right and left. As soon as she took this in, she gasped, and lurched backwards. She rammed into something very hard and warm, and she span around, jumping away as she came face to face with the Goblin King. The Goblin King who now owned her, she thought frantically. 

Her eyes were huge as she turned and fell onto Jareth's chest. She was petrified.

"You really _are_ the Goblin King… And I stupidly wished myself away to you, didn't I?" She murmured.

"Yes, I must say you _very_ stupidly wished yourself away." Jareth had cornered her now, as she had lost her balance and had slipped to the ground by the window.

"Am I to be a goblin then?"

Before she could help it laughter began to pour from her mouth, but it was high, and mirthless. She saw she still wore her school uniform.

_How strange_, she thought. She was in the land of Goblins, and she was still wearing her school uniform. It was like a _very_ bad field trip. This thought brought more shrieks of hysteria, accompanied by her body beginning to shake.

Jareth was familiar of the signs of hysteria, so he held her upper arms steady instead of shaking her to silence her cries. She flinched slightly as his hands squeeze her flesh but he paid this no heed.

"That," He said, impatience rising in his voice, "Depends very much upon you."

Numbly, she sat back down on the grimy floor, and nodded, so Jareth let her, thinking she needed to rest. Her brown eyes were blank and her cheeks retained little colour. Jareth wondered if she had ever smiled in her life, as the lines around her eyes and mouth were drawn and sallow. All traces of her hysterical spontaneity had disappeared, as if snuffed out like a candle.

Strangely, her eyes remained dry, and her hands did not writhe in fear, she simply placed them calmly on her knees, drew a deep breath, and closed her eyes. Intrigued, Jareth crouched down and stared at her unopened eyes.

Breathing out, she relaxed all her muscles, but she still held the anxious expression on her face, eyes closed. Her eyelashes contrasted disturbingly with her skin.

"What in the realm are you doing?" Jareth asked abruptly, shattering the silence.

"I thought you would know. After all, I suspect you watch human life from time to time?" It was definitely a question, but Jareth was too busy examining this forceful child to notice. She hiccupped, and began to laugh again, but Jareth brought up a hand to her mouth, and stifled her breathless giggles. He was not wearing his gloves, and her lips tingled; her nose tickled like it was about to sneeze.

Slowly, Jareth released his hold, and moved closer.

Wren's lips were moving in a mantra. The words were unclear, but she was definitely saying something over and over again.

'What are you repeating?' Curiosity got the better of Jareth, and he questioned her.

She breathed out once again, and her shoulders drooped a little more than before, and the worried expression was replaced by one of calm.

"I'll take that for a yes, then. It's called yoga." She neatly dodged his question and cracked open an eye and was greeted with a very interested, and very close Goblin King.

She scuttled back, her hand slipped, and she winced as she anticipated the thwack of unforgiving stone upon her elbow. Instead, she experienced the familiar feeling of being lifted by strong capable hands. _Not_, she thought with distain, _for the first time today. How does he move so quickly and so silently?_

"Do you have any respect for personal space?" She asked, her voice pumped with sarcasm even though she was pressed up against Jareth's torso, his hands once again under her knees and upper back.

She felt rather than heard his silent chuckle, as her body vibrated with the rumble of his chest.

"I see you're not afraid of me. How… unwise." He said this without malice, but the meaning was clear.

"Of course not. I still stand on the whole 'I wrote you' thing. You shall have to get used to it. Besides. Being a goblin isn't that bad, right?"

This was rather reckless behaviour, fraternizing with a Goblin King, but Wren wasn't in the best mind at the moment. To be honest she had the light-headedness similar to some one who is drunk, and Jareth was well aware of this.

A wave of exhaustion filled her as soon as her body caught up with the fact she had been moving too quickly.

She barely had enough strength to look up at him, but she did, and slumped back again.

"I wouldn't know. As you see, I am no goblin." He felt, rather than saw, Wren smile.

"No. I guess you're not. I was going to write you a little more… Goblin-y, but thought better of it."

"Oh, I'm _so_ glad…" Jareth said sarcastically, as he still didn't quite believe her. Not yet.

"Answer the question." Her voice was little more than a whisper, and she prodded him. Jareth decided to let it pass. She wouldn't remember much when she woke up, so it didn't matter. He could tell her brain was still in shock from the work it had had to do with the assistance of his magic.

"I'm afraid I have no sense of personal space, my dear. You shall have to get used to it." He kept his voice distant, as he still disliked he obvious lack of respect for him, then again, he had thrown her against a wall…

"Well, sorry to be such a bother, your High-" Unfortunately, this was a far as she got, as she promptly passed out again. Not before she realised how warm his amulet was. She had, once again, threaded her hands through his open shirt to rest upon that peculiar necklace. It was a subconscious act, but even as she drifted from reality, she saw her own fingers dart out and catch hold of the pendant.

Jareth too, looked down upon her, and saw the child clutching so tightly to him, he was shocked at her forwardness. She seemed so defensive of herself while awake, but in sleep, she grasped on to him like a tiny babe.

Setting her down upon the bed another time, she protested sleepily when he moved away. Uncertain what to do, he brought his cloak up to her torso, eased her fingers from the amulet, and leant back.

What he wasn't counting on, however, was her small hand reaching out to claim his. He perched on the bed looking bewildered. Her other hand snaked past the cloak, and grabbed his hand also. He could have shaken her off, but he found he didn't want to. It was such a long time since anyone had held his hand, asleep or not, just because they needed to.

Her hands were so cold! Jareth began gently rubbing them, trying to warm them with his own. There was something familiar and natural about this action, it surprised Jareth. He felt like he did this often, and the feeling of her smaller hand in his was somehow comforting. He knew he was behaving strangely, why in the Realm was he being so… familiar with the child. He didn't know her. She didn't know him. They were strangers… Weren't they?

_Then why does she know my name_? His mind supplied.

He traced her fingers with one of his own, thinking about her flashback. Her pale hands were imprinted with dried ink, and, he thought disdainfully, her own dried blood. The nails were exactly like the vision. Like it happened yesterday.

Wait. What if it had happened yesterday? 

He would need to talk to Wren. He wanted to know what that vast darkness was. What was beyond that void?

She stirred, and one hand slipped from his grasp. He was surprised to find that his hands were holding on as tightly as hers. Her hand went to adjust her collar, and began to tug at it. Apparently her school uniform was very uncomfortable, especially whilst sleeping.

He rubbed a thumb over the grey material and frowned. It scratched roughly on his bare hands, and he would not have liked to be clothed in such inappropriate material.

_This will not do at all._

Jareth didn't have any suitable nightclothes for her, but he did have something else. Something she could borrow for the time being.

He stood, regretting having to leave the child's hand. He walked to the door and called to a figure, which was wandering outside. He looked as though he had been eavesdropping.

"Yeh Majesty! Erm… I wus just, err… "

"Hogbrain! I don't want your ill schemed excuses. I have a job for you." Jareth said with a scowl.

Hoggle trembled, but didn't correct the King. It was very unwise to do so when he was in a mood. Which he usually was.

"What is it yeh want, yeh Majesty?" He asked gruffly, deciding to be polite and address Jareth with his station.

"I need you to get one of my extra shirts and a large bath tub. Bring them up to this room. And make sure they're _clean_. Understand?" He ordered. It wasn't said like a request. It was the demand of a man who got his way.

"But yeh Majesty… You's _got_ a shirt on, look…-"

Hoggle was cut short by a hand cutting of his air supply.

"I _know_ what I'm wearing, Hoggy." He put the dwarf down, and added,

"Just _do_ it!"

He hissed it with such violence, the small dwarf backed away.

"Oh, and if you breathe a word of what you've heard, I'll assign you to watch over the Bog of Eternal Stench. Not that anyone would be likely to pass by any time soon."

He gave a short bark of laughter as the figure paled, and his eyes danced with amusement.

With that, Jareth shut the door upon a very scared dwarf who shuffled away in to the shadows, grumbling under his breath.

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To my reviewers:-

Anij: This chapter is dedicated to you! Cause you were the first to review it. By the way, I'm flattered you think my imagery is fantastic, and that it reminds you of 'The Crow'. I love that poem. I'm glad you think it's freaky...To be honest, I have no idea where the idea for the signiture stamp came from, I've just seen them in books and I thought why not. The dead wren was... freaky. Thanks for your review!

Wolf.at.Heart: Thanks you for saying that Jareth was 'in line'. I really wanted to get that arrogant swagger _just_ right, lol. Anyway, if you have a problem with his behavior now, as in, he's too kind to her, there is a major reason, so don't worry, I'm not slipping. Jareth the Jerk is coming back. He's... very cruel to her in the next few chapters as he plans to repress his instincts. Sparks _will _fly. I'm really pleased with... chapter 6 i think. I really want to know what you think of that particular chapter when it comes out. And yeah, not many people realise only Hoggle calls him Jareth, Sarah never does, so it wasn't in the book.

Ocean Fairy: Sorry about how long this took to come out. If you read my profile, it'll tell you why. I had a problem with my computer for quite a while.The next chapter will come out much faster, I promise.

Nemo: I love your strange reviews. Sometimes Jareth needs a good pimp slapping.

Lady Edoras: Can I just say I love reviews like yours. It really is an authoress's dream that someone understands their character. I'm so glad you like it. I'll be writing a LOT more... Wow... I'm only on chapter 7 (on my P.C.) but I know I''ll need loads more chapters... Oh dear. This my turn out to be novel length... Hope that's alright with you, lol. And I understand completely about how hard it is to find a good Labyrinth fic! I've looked everywhere for a good one. There's a REALLY amazing one called 'Forfeit of Dreams' by R L Morgan (I think) that you might enjoy. She's finished it, and she's writing a sequel.

The Unsinkable Molly Screamo: Thank you very much! I definately will keep going, there's a good 50 chapters yet to come...I hope, lol. Let's pray my writers block doesn't hit again...

Victoria: Again, thank you! Here's the next chapter, I hope you like it! ;)

The next chapter will arrive in about 6-8 days, maybe 4 if I get a lot of reviews, lol. PLEASE read and review. You'll make this short blonde authoress very VERY happy! I'll even dance!


	4. Chapter 4

Just a short chapter this time, but the next few chapters will be longer, so don't kill me! Sparks will fly. Anyway, I don't own the Labyrinth etc., but I do own Wren Craft, so don't steal her please, or I will hunt you down. Well, maybe not, but I'll find you, and send you angry messages. Just so you know. Kay. On with the chapter... Oh, and if you'd be so good, read and review!

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Chapter Four: - Scars and Silence

Wren was comfortable. No, not comfy… She was completely relaxed in a way that she didn't even realise where she was. This was beginning to happen a lot, but Wren wasn't complaining. Just give her five more minutes on this _bed_.

At least she suspected it was a bed. The rough linen sheets smelt familiar, and her coverlet whispered to her, like a good friend might. But there was something different. Different as in better.

She began to stretch and she had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. She remembered stretching. Then moving slightly this way. Then rubbing the back of her neck like this…

_What the… _Instead of a stiff white collar around her neck, she felt a smooth, creamy thin material that gaped as her fingers came to the front of the item of clothing.

She clutched a hand to her chest as she realised that she was only wearing this and her underwear. The large slit in the cloth reached her navel. Her arms brushed the cover once more, and she felt the arms of whatever she was wearing were bunched at her elbows. On top of this the hem was only down to her mid-thigh.

_Oh my-_

This in it's self was disconcerting, but having Jareth then cough loudly to announce his presence whilst you are trying to tie the shirt anyway you could across your exposed chest was really too much. Luckily, the only thing that saved Wren from embarrassment, and possible death from willed spontaneous combustion, was that her underwear gave her enough covering to be decent.

Underwear or no underwear, though, Wren did not like to find she was wearing something she herself did not put on. Never mind how wonderful it felt.

So she squeaked her outrage at a smirking Goblin King. He had not even bothered to avert his eyes.

"How _dare_ you! I'm not even dressed! You may have you're way with you're subjects, but I am not going to let you _ogle_ me!" Wren shuddered violently, and pulled the covers up to her chin, making sure Jareth did not get another eyeful. Of course it could have been worse, but Wren did not like that experience one bit.

" My _dear_! It would take _much_ more generous curves on your part, and a vast more _wine _on mine to make me think of you for _that_. And,"

He came very close to Wren and glared at her wide, shocked eyes, anger surfacing in his own.

" I do _not_ 'ogle'!" Venom seemed to seep from his words as the hovered in the air around them.

"You seem to forget you're place, girl. I am the Goblin King, and I will be treated as such. As for you… You are not of your world any more. You are of mine."

"Whether I am of your world or of mine, I have a _name_! Don't delude yourself into thinking anything you do or say will scare me into submission. I know exactly what you are trying to do…" Unbidden her hands clenched on the coverlet.

Jareth was silent, letting her rant, trying to find out something about her. It was fascinating to watch such a small child contain such raw emotion. The disconcerting longing to comfort her wound around Jareth, and constricted tightly, not wanting to be ignored, but he pushed it from his mind. This was not the time.

"I've had it done to me before and I'm tired…" Wren's voice was growing in rage, the strength in it making it clear what she was feeling.

"I'm tired of being used!" The words tore from her throat, creating a tense silence, from which she realised she had said too much. Far too much.

Wren's face burned, and she looked away, ashamed she had said so much to this stranger.

Not only had the King of the Goblins kidnapped her, he had seen her in a strop more than once, had to pick her up and put her to bed, more than once she noted with a grimace and now had seen her break down. This wasn't who she was. Why did he torment her so?

_Because, _Said a voice in her head,_ He's the Goblin King. You_ belong_ to him. You mean nothing._

Yes, it hurt. But it was the truth. And it had to be faced.

Steeling herself against the fury she was sure to see in his eyes, she looked up at him, all regret had disappeared from her face and one question burnt her tongue.

"_What _do you want?" She said to Jareth, her voice dangerously low even to her ears, but she was way past surprise. All of her anger and hate poured from her, surrounding her, filling her with rich, hot pain.

Jareth nearly pulled away when the force of the girl's words hit him. And her _voice. _As vexed as he was with her, he couldn't bring himself to punishing her. She had spoken with such raw emotion it almost burned him.

"I want," Jareth said, and he leaned closer, until he was barely millimetres from the girl's face. The light wisps of stray hair brushed Wren's forehead, sending chills of electrical terror down her spine. She hardly silenced the whimper in her throat as he glared at her, but she stood her ground, her eyes fixed on Jareth's.

"…To know _who_ you are, _why_ you wished yourself away, and _what_ you are trying to hide from me." He breathed, well aware of how uncomfortable she was. He silently dared her to break the contact, to look away, to admit she was wrong. To surrender. To accept.

Scared as she was, this tactic had been used on Wren many times before, and she wasn't about to let it be used against her again. It would be worse if she didn't accept he was right. He would make her pay. She wasn't stupid. She knew what he could do. Her eyes faltered, and slowly dropped to her lap, where her hands were fingering the smooth, silken lining of the cloak, absently.

Jareth also glanced down at her hands, and froze.

In unmasked horror, Jareth peered at long, thin, glistening scars criss-cross over the child's forearms. Some looked old; others were still healing, and were pink and tender, the tissue growing a new as he stared. They covered her arms, some huge, cutting across the blue lines of her veins, again and again. Bruises too, littered her skin, making him wince, as he understood why she jerked away when he had grabbed her arms.

Wren gasped as she realised what Jareth was looking at, and she hugged her arms around herself to try to cover the wounds in her skin, but it was too late. He had seen.

Jareth _had_ seen. There were _words_ hacked into her flesh, bad words. Words that abused and scorned. Permanently scarred into her.

Not just the usual offences either. Words that pierced deep. There were others, but Jareth didn't get a chance to see.

Wren took a shuddering breath, closing her eyes against the impending tears. No turning back now. He would ask questions, he would know. He would know _why._

She furtively opened her eyes, and chanced a look at Jareth, now sat next to her on the bed. He still looked at her arms, now bent round her form. He was still undeniably close and Wren tried to shift away, to turn her back on the Goblin King. The same unidentifiable wild smell emanated from this man, and her nose tingled. A hand caught her shoulder, and forced her to turn back to him, and another long fingered hand captured her wrist, lightly but firmly bringing her closer.

He didn't know what to think. There was that annoying feeling that he had come to identify as guilt, and he knew why. As soon as he met her eyes, however, a crippling feeling of worry washed over him. These new feelings were frustrating to say the least, and he hated being at their mercy. Why did he have to look out for the girl? He had healed her and held her no debt. Why did he have an urge to make her smile?

_The same reason I watch her while she sleeps_, he thought in answer to his question.

She pulled away, shame clouding her eyes, and she savagely whipped her hand from his grasp, glowering at him with distrust. Her face was drawn and deathly pale, and dark circles surrounded those tired, world-weary eyes, those eyes that begged him to remain silent as they stared.

Why did he not see it before? She was still a child, yet her eyes were much older than her body. That was what was wrong with her. He was not a stranger to cases like hers; he had seen it many times. But why did she invoke such pity within him?

Jareth, for once, nodded stiffly and stood. His heavy riding boots clicked musically upon the stone floor, as he rounded the bed to where Wren sat, and pondered on what to do with her. Some how, he couldn't turn her into a goblin. For now. He was too curious about her past. He disliked mysteries, especially when it concerned his victims. But then again, why should he care?

He shook his head, scattering these thoughts, and watched the girl for a moment.

_Why do I care? What is she to me?_

She looked away and he remembered she must want to become clean.

"Water will be sent for. I suggest you clean yourself up. You'll want clothes. I had the seamstress make you some." Jareth murmured, the feeling drained from his voice. Gone was that knowing smirk, that vicious glint of malice in his mismatched eyes. Now they were clouded, deep in thought. Then they snapped back to Wren, suddenly cold.

"I also think you had better come up with a story before I return. I do not like to be kept in the dark, you understand." He added, barking the words into the silence.

With every syllable he formed, her heart beat faster, sure that at any moment he would hit her or sneer. Her eyes were screwed shut, waiting. But he didn't.

Why? 

With those words, he strolled out of the room, his boots slapping the ground as though in protest. It took all of his will not to go to her and force an answer from her lips, or even to hold her, let her wind her arms around him too. Where do those feelings _come_ from? Jareth angrily questioned himself, but all he got in reply was a longing to embrace her from a shadow of a dream.

And as much as he hated it, he was still the King of the Goblin's, and feelings _never_ came into it when it concerned wishers.

She couldn't move, couldn't speak. She just sat upon the bed, eyes shut, hugging her slight form, listening to the click of his boots as he walked from the room, and the dull creak and slam of the heavy wooden door. She even heard the distinct scrape of the lock as it slid home.

And she was alone once again.

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Tell me what you think and the next update will be super fast, I swear! Read and Review!

To my reviews, whom I adore:- (is it who or whom?)

This chapter is dedicated to Wolf.at.Heart and emptyvoices, who were the only two reviewers! Thank you so much, you two, I love you to bits. And the rest of you lurkers, please read and review! I love getting reviews. You can't imagine how happy I get. I_ bounce around the living room, people! I get that happy!_ Dont you want to make me dance? C'mon. Just a sign that you like the fic will keep me going! Okay, enough from me...


	5. Chapter 5

**Me again. 'Nother chapter up, hope you enjoy it. Oh, and those of you who read my Doctor Who fics too, cheak out my profile. Good and bad news there. **

**Just to clarify, I don't own Jareth, but I do own Wren. No stealing of my characters, or I shall be very upset. Very upset. .:sniff:.**

**Please please please read and review! **

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**Chapter Five: - Dreams and Fancy**

Tentatively, Wren opened her eyes. It may have been minutes since Jareth had left. It may have been seconds. For all Wren cared, it was years.

Distracting thoughts clung to her mind, however. An image, feelings, smells, touches. She didn't know if she had dreamt them, or they were real.

The soft touch of fingers on her temples. The warm press of lips on her forehead. The scent of hay and stone, sweat and some unknown thing that repelled her nose, but lured her mind, from somewhere deep in her memory. The sweep of fingers across her own, and the heated metal of Jareth's amulet.

All these confused her and she couldn't think. Who was this man, this fictional character she had written? And why was he so very different to the man she had imagined him to be?

_Because he's real._

It made sense. He was not the villain in a girl's story; always cruel, always sardonic, always simple to defeat. You knew where you stood with a man like that. If he had sneered and laughed at her scars, Wren would have understood. After all, she had written him like that. But he _hadn't_. That was what confused Wren.

She had seen the haunted look in his eyes when they had met hers after he saw those scars. He looked _concerned_. He looked genuinely worried for her.

It felt wrong. She didn't want to be pitied. She didn't _want_ to be pitied by him. By _anyone_. They could choke on their pity. Where had he been when she _really _needed help? When she had cried in grief and her hopes had been scattered.

And _now _he was being respectful?

Conflicting emotions rattled inside her head, confusing and making her scowl.

He doesn't care for you. He doesn't care for anyone. He's a selfish, ignorant prick.

Again the velvet touch of his lips against her forehead crept into her mind, and she almost smiled. He was different to everything she believed him to be. In some ways at least.

But then again maybe she was wrong.

She buried her head in the coverlet now draped over her folded bare legs and breathed in. That settling smell that sparked something like a memory within her, made her relax. Even though it wasn't exactly pleasant, it was so reassuring at this moment that she sighed. Her fingers had been tracing the outline of the material slowly, and Wren stopped when she came to a stiffer texture. The material bunched, the swept upward, into a graceful curve, rigid with some sort of finish.

Wren opened her eyes with a start as she realise she had been stroking Jareth's cloak. The black collar engulfed her hands, and she saw a strand of white-blonde hair upon the cloth.

Open mouthed with disbelief, her brain convulsed. That scent… That calming, secret smell that had relaxed her… That was… Jareth's magic…

Her numb hands let the cloak drop back onto her lap, while her wits screamed inwardly.

_Why does he smell like … something I used to remember? I remember… What?_

---

Jareth strode down the empty corridor, his footsteps echoing off the dense stonework under his boots. His hands were clenched and the white of his knuckles stood out under his paper-like skin. Distress was etched into every line of his face, and his eyes were distant, as though his thoughts were elsewhere.

The girl, now locked in her room, was a mystery to him. He couldn't shut out the sound of the door slamming closed, or of the key scrape against the mechanism of the lock. It sounded terribly final.

_Who _was_ she? _His mind almost screamed. The question was always at the edge of his mind, taunting him. She was so strange.

Those scars upon her arms wouldn't usually move him like this. There was something about her. He couldn't understand why he felt the way he did towards her… He didn't even know her!

But the sight of her injuries made him angry, made him want to protect her. Why?

Maybe he could…? Jareth shook his head in aggravation, making the wisps of his fine hair dance.

He didn't know what to do anymore, and being this unsure of anything made him feel vulnerable. He didn't like the feeling. It wouldn't do to have a King who wasn't taking action.

He was deep in his thoughts when a waist high dwarf staggered around the corner that Jareth had just rounded. The dwarf shouted his outrage as he was pushed onto his behind by the collision.

"Hogwart!" Jareth snarled as he recognised the irritated dwarf at his feet, and made to pick him up and shake him. The dwarf stopped abruptly in his string of curses and blinked up at his King with barely concealed terror.

"Yeh Majesty! I's terribly sorry about that, I thoughts you were… err… another goblin guard," Jareth glowered down at the little creature, still sat uncomfortably on the dusty, hard stone floor.

"Which you's obviously not, now I can see's yeh. It won't happen again, I promise, I jus' needed to hurry 'cause I had to-" Hoggle was cut short in his babbling excuses as Jareth made a silencing gesture with a bare hand.

"Enough of your useless excuses, Hog-Brain. I have heard them many, many, _many_ times before…" Jareth finished with a hiss, his eyes narrowing into dangerously thin slits.

Hoggle wasn't a stupid dwarf. On the contrary, if dwarves were to be measured in intelligence, Hoggle would look pretty good. Although, if you knew what slobbering, idiotic thieves dwarves were, you wouldn't think so high of them. However, Hoggle wasn't about to risk his neck once again, so he did what any other person would do in his situation.

Well… perhaps not every other person…

"Erm… Yeh Majesty, I needed to…Erm…" Floundered Hoggle, backing away slowly. This was always a wise thing to do, as Jareth was near seething, and Hoggle didn't want to be in his line of fire. Sketching a quick, inadequate bow, he ducked around a corner and disappeared.

Jareth frowned, and growled frustratedly in his throat, then began to stride in the opposite direction, cursing the small creature with renewed vigour.

He was torn. But he was the Goblin King first and foremost. That much was clear.

Now Jareth was in a bad mood. A _very_ bad mood, unfortunately for Wren…

---

Wren was still sat on the bed when there was a sharp rap on the door, and the audible scuffle of feet on the stones outside. Then there was a shriek, several curses, and the sound of a metal bucket as it tumbled onto the ground and rolled off into the distance, the hiss of water pattering on the ground.

Lifting her head from her arms, Wren frowned. There was a brief silence, and then the door slowly swung inward, and a terrified goblin woman looked in. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, and she sighed her relief.

She stepped into the room, all caution gone, and she scowled at the girl perched on the bed. She had brown skin, crumpled in places, and looked rather like an unhappy teabag, except she was wearing some sort of tunic, tied at the front, and completely filthy.

"Well, you's a grubby lil' thing, I'll gives yeh that. Look at yeh. Yeh'd better get tha' shirt off, eh? An' I hopes yeh like yeh bath's cold, 'cause Twick jus' went and spilt yeh hot water. Get in here, yeh cowering idiot! He's not in here!"

Wren saw another goblin enter at this point, who was slightly younger and smaller, but equally grubby. Her face wasn't as squashed, and she was carrying a bundle of cloth.

The new arrival, apparently by the name of Twick, gave the room a quick glance, as the other had done, and dropped the bundle clumsily to the floor. She looked at Wren and snorted.

"Yeh're right, Aggy. She's a bit of a lump, ain't she. Well, yeh gets this fair an' square." Twick dug in her tunic, as if looking for something, and gave a little shout as she pulled out a dirty heavy coin and handed it to Aggy.

"Right then. Hey, you! Yeh, you's with tha' big, ol' bucket. Come here!" The goblin called Aggy yelled to someone in the corridor outside the door, out of Wren's sight, and another goblin, male this time, struggled in, carrying a huge metal bucket, the water sloshing heartily over the sides. He set it down, and without a sound, shuffled outside again, this time he reappeared dragging a very large, very grimy, tin hipbath.

Wren looked on in curiosity. What peculiar things goblins _were_. The male goblin finished adjusting the bath, and spat on the floor with a satisfied grunt. He was wearing some sort of baggy trousers, and a large shirt of sorts, with a string of glinting oddities hanging from a belt around his middle. He turned around and saw the girl for the first time, his expressive eyes widening, and he swore loudly, recognition blatant on his face.

"Hoggle?" Wren gasped in disbelief as the dwarf took a step back, a little frightened.

_He _knows_ me… How on Earth?_

"What in the Realm ah you _doin' _here?" Hoggle stared at her, shock and something else in his voice.

Cautiously, Wren stood and edged her way off the bed, carefully wrapping a hand around the shirt's front. No need to relive _that_ experience…

She padded over to the small band of creatures by the side of the room, noticing for the first time that a massive fireplace took up the entire far wall, and stopped in front of Hoggle, who was sidling closer to the door. He came up to her middle, and had to crane his neck back to look at her.

"Of course. You're here too. I'd forgotten." She almost wrapped her arms around the bewildered little figure, but she restrained herself.

"Ah needs to be goin'.'" Hoggle said, and made a dash for the door, but Wren cried out. Hoggle turned slowly, shaking his head. The two goblins had watched all this without a sound until now, and Aggy rudely cut in.

"'Scuse this lil' interruption, but 'Is Majesty wan'ed her down in the Main 'all soon, an' yeh can catch up later." She said to Hoggle, then:

"An' you! Get that shirt off. 'Is Majesty don't like to be kept waitin' You's gonna be seen tah."

Hoggle paled, but left, avoiding Wren's gaze.

Wren nodded, numb from the shock, and the harshness in the goblin's tone. Then she realised what Aggy was saying, and abruptly shook her head.

"Listen. I'm not about to go stripping off in front of you. I can handle my own bath, thanks." Wren began to push them outside, when Twick stopped and motioned to the little bundle on the floor.

"Tha's yeh clothes. 'Is Majesty said yeh'd want 'em 'stead o' a dress." The girl goblin snorted again, whispered to Aggy:

"S'long as she don't mind secon' hand."

At this Aggy laughed too, and it sounded rather like the crying of a somewhat mangy cat.

Confused, Wren closed the door on the gossiping goblins, raised her hands to cover her eyes, and sank uncomfortably to the ground.

_What was going on? Obviously Hoggle recognised me, but how? And, more importantly, why? And those goblins, what did they mean by second… hand…_

A terrible thought swam in her head, but she pushed it away. He _wouldn't _have…would he?

Carefully, Wren crawled over to the dusty bundle and tugged at the cord around it all until it fell open. Her fingers clumsy, Wren picked the cloth open and saw…

A creamy white shirt, smaller than the one she had on, but clearly recently re-sewn to fit her. Deftly she pushed it aside, and found tight fitting trousers, also re-sewn for her, and a pair of leather boots.

She fingered the shirt, and cringed when she saw that the slit had been sewn right up to the throat, badly.

She picked up the bundle and threw it at the wall, hating him. She could all too well imagine him telling his puzzled seamstress to re-fit some of his clothes. She squirmed. It was so like him to remind her who she belonged to now.

Giving an angry sigh, she stood, and dragged the now abandoned bath towards the fireplace. It was still unlit, and she stood looking at it for a moment. How was she to…?

After a while she gave up, and poured the icy water into the small bath, grimacing at how cold it was when she put a hand in it.

Glancing around the room warily, she pulled the shirt over her head. She scowled at the door's traitorous unlocking tendencies, especially when Jareth was around, and decided to keep her underwear _on_. She then climbed gingerly into the bath. The cold swelled around her, like clammy hands grasping at her and she almost shrieked. She washed quickly, not bothering that the water sloped over the sides, and when she came to washing her hair, she barely persuaded herself to duck under the water. Afterwards, she almost welcomed the cold air hitting her skin. It was better than that water.

She got out of the bath finally, and shivered, feeling all too vulnerable. What if someone were to burst in. If _he _did, she would surely dive out of the window just to escape the humiliation. She looked down at herself, eying the bruises on her arms, legs and stomach.

She grasped her sleeping shirt, and began to dry herself on it, as she couldn't see any alternative. After she was dry, she walked over to the forlorn looking pile of clothes she had thrown against the wall. She picked them up, and dressed, feeling stupid. She almost hit herself when she gave a contented sigh from the feeling of clean, warm clothes. They're _his_ clothes, she kept telling herself, but she couldn't deny how good they felt.

_No! They're his clothes. It's to intimidate you. Don't you dare get attached to them._

She shook herself and straightened, brushing the shirt down.

_God, they even _smell _like him._

She shuddered. They smelt of magic. His magic. When once she found that scent soothing, and even enjoyed it, as soon as she had found out it was _his_ magic, she had hated herself for it. What had he done to them? Put some sort of enchantment on her clothes? This was not good.

She walked over to the window, and almost cringed as she heard the familiar click of his boots on the stone floor. She neared the window, and nearly wept. So it _was _true. She thought she had dreamt it. The vast Labyrinth clawed across the landscape, evaporating all of Wren's hope of escape. She knew how difficult it was, after all, she had written it to be impossible.

Blinking back the tears, she closed her eyes, and breathed in, hearing the faint tinny sounds of the living goblin city below. A shout. A sudden crash, and abuse spilt from a particularly impolite goblin's mouth and floated up to her window. She must be over 70 feet up. And even if she got down, what chance would she have of defeating the Labyrinth?

She leant against the sill, and took some more steadying breaths. She wouldn't give in to hysteria. She _wouldn't_. She fiddled with the rough stitching of the slit in her shirt, grateful for the newfound modesty. It was obvious that who ever had sewn it had had little to no experience of sewing before.

She almost cried out when she heard and felt the fireplace roar to life behind her, and she span around, locking eyes with a very stricken goblin. Twick. She was knelt in front of the now smoking bank of wood, and smiled slyly.

"Ah see yeh wus enjoyin' the view, eh? Can't get down, can't get up from tha' winder, yeh know. An' if yeh tried…" The goblin's grin widened and she made a whistling noise through her teeth, and then, "Splat! Yeh wouldn't look the same, let meh tell yeh." She chuckled, and stood up, rustling her bedraggled tunic.

Wren merely looked at her. She wasn't amused by Twick's lack of diplomacy. She stood there for a while, unsure what to do when suddenly the door flew open once more, and Aggy hurried in, huffing. She was slightly red around the cheeks, and she barely managed to gasp out the following:

"'Is Maj' is in a state, Twick! Get 'er downstairs! Otherwise, 'e said we'd pay, 'stead like! Come along, girl!" Twick rushed over to Wren, and grabbed her arm, pulling on her sleeve. Wren tried to pull away, but that goblin was strong, and she only succeeded in getting a rather irritated look from Twick.

"You's for it now, girl! 'E's in a right temper! 'Ere! Get down them there stairs, and go to the Main 'all. You're tah have a hearing! I gots to see tah other things."

With that, Twick pushed her out of the door, and down the first few steps of a flight of stairs, and ran off in another direction.

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**Okay doke, here's to my reviewers:-**

**Wolf.at.Heart - This chapter dedicated to you, again, lol. Yeah, I was going to go with the whole determined thing, but I decided to go another way. She's very different to other ...characters (coughSarahcough) so she wouldn't act exactly like... them. Anyway, wait and see, more twists and turns to come.**

**emptyvoices - Yeah, I know all about that emotional pain being worse than physical pain (I watch programmes, I don't do it, lol) but I kinda have to agree. Wren's not as weak as people think, emotionally, she's a very strong person. Jareth has to find that out... More soon. Thanks for the review.**

**Jordiscy - Thanks so much! And I know I should know what it means, but what's **masochistic**? I'd look on Word, but it doesn't have a word like it. (facepalm) It's aweful to live up to one's hair, lol.**

**MelodyWolfhart - Yep, there's loads that still need to be answered, so don't go anywhere. The best is yet to come, lol. **

**Sammi C. - Done so! Glad you enjoy it. To be honest I based a lot of Wren on myself (not all, obviously, but just a few aspects). Anyway, keep reading, other stuff will be revealed..;)**

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**


	6. Chapter 6

'Nother chapter up, cause I can. As you well know I don't own Jareth, but I do own Wren. No copyright, but she's still mine, so no taking, got it? Good. Okay Doke, on with the chapter, hope you enjoy, and please review!

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**Chapter Six: - The Hearing**

Wren glanced around herself, anxiously. _He was in a state?_ That didn't sound good. She looked down the small staircase to her left, and shivered. It wasn't grand or polished or carpeted. It was old and dusty, and looked a little worse for wear. That was how she felt right now, in that narrow, dark corridor. She dusted off her clothes once more, really just hesitating more than trying to look clean. She stared down the hallway, in the direction that Twick has vanished. There were many heavy wooden doors leading off from the dingy corridor, and Wren could only guess at what was behind them all. She ran a hand through her hair, and the damp, ratty knots snagged her fingers lightly. She stepped forward cautiously, like at any moment the stairway would vanish or engulf her. The steady, grimy stone did not, however, move. Slowly she made her way down, dreading whatever was waiting for her. A trial? She shuddered to think what kind of trial the King of the Goblin's would think to prepare. She brushed the banister with her fingers, and welcomed it's solid feeling. She breathed deeply and continued to descend.

Wren finally reached the foot of the stairs and looked up at the distant grubby passage. She shut her eyes and whirled around, and found herself in the centre of a circular hall, also covered in dust, making her eyes water. The stone floor was swept, but it seemed to attract so much grime it hardly did any good. A dishevelled sweeping brush leaned against one of the bare walls, and the few bristles bent with the weight of the simple handle. The circular room was light, and she glanced upwards. A magnificent stone ceiling soared above her, and a plain brass chandelier hung at its centre. It was still, and the flickering light of the many candles danced across the dull walls. Wren rubbed her eyes.

The walls were bare and uninviting, and made her eyes immediately focus on the five passages that ran off from the room. Casting a look over her shoulder, she counted six in total, including the one she had come in by. They all looked dismal and dark, and there were no pointers or clues to which one led to where she must go. Wren shrugged, and even though she hated the fact that she had no idea where she was, she could at least do some investigating. As noiselessly as she could, she made her way across the floor, grateful that the layer of dust stilled the ominous click of her boots. She quickly scanned the doors, and decided to pick at random. _There!_

She darted towards a rounded archway, noting that it led to a small shadowy alcove. There was a narrow door just beyond, and a niche set into one wall, where a solitary candle sputtered forlornly. What seemed like years of melted wax had built up over time, and had dripped onto the floor, creating quite a unique mess. The intricate dribbles of wax beaded down the side of the lighted candle, and Wren longed to snap off some of the elaborate shapes, but new it would spoil the beauty of the thing, so she didn't. Nervously, Wren neared the door, and leaned intently at its surface, listening carefully. There were scuffles and grunts from within, then a determined shriek, and hurried footsteps.

Wren lurched from the door, tripped and fell backwards. She gasped, and tried in vain to get up and scurry back into the large rounded room, but she shouldn't have bothered. A few seconds later, there was silence, and the door did not open.

Getting up shakily, Wren dusted herself off, and decided to pick another door. After all, she didn't want to be caught prying before she had discovered anything worth being discovered.

She grinned at her bizarre logic, then turned and saw another door. It was slightly ajar, and the dark slit of the unknown beckoned her. She looked around her once again, and, thinking she was alone, made her way quietly towards it. She was only about a few feet away, when she felt a tugging on her sleeve. She almost cried out, but silenced the yelp within her throat. She whirled around, and saw a small dwarf at her side. His eyebrows were lowered in a frown, and he was pulling her away from the door before she could blink. He was mumbling something, which resembled:

" Stupid…good feh nothin' human… Ye want his Majesty on yeh? No… yeh didn' think, did yeh…"

Wren glared at the little figure, now hauling her over to a seventh door, which she swore was not there to begin with. It was wider than the first six, and the stone underneath it was well worn down, after centuries of feet had scuttled over the thresh-hold.

Wren stared at the dwarf, and she suddenly realised she had seen him before.

"Hoggle?" She asked, as she stopped and faced him. He looked up at her, and blinked, looking guilty. His eyes were wide and frightened.

" Don' yeh know where yeh wus goin'? Yeh _never _go anywhere near His Majesty's personal rooms, yeh hear! An' hush up! Ah can't 'elp yeh in there, anymore 'n ah can change his mind, understand?"

Wren frowned, but nodded, her mind too preoccupied with the dwarf than what he was saying. Where did she know him from? She had written him, but he was exactly like she had imagined he would be. Something strange was going on and she didn't like it at all. But then the meaning of his words sunk in, and her head spun. Help her? What on Earth-?

But before she could question him, Hoggle had led her to the door, and had raised his hand to knock. The gentle tapping echoed painfully around the room, and Wren winced. She wasn't ready for what was behind that door.

It swung open, and Wren was disappointed when she didn't hear it creak threateningly. Then a wave of sound hit her. Jeers, screams and yells rose up from the great room, and she was pushed from behind. She stumbled forwards, and the cries became deafening. Thousands of goblins perched on little ledges that scattered the walls. The hall loomed high above her head, and she felt terribly small and irrelevant. The gaping, leering faces glowered at her from all directions, and she looked around, bewildered.

The teaming mass of them pressed in on her, and some threw bits of food or rocks in her general direction. Luckily their aim was awful, and she managed to dodge a few projectiles before a lump of coal hit her squarely on the shoulder, leaving a black smear. The attacker cheered. This was all too familiar to Wren. She could almost see a thousand Michelles sneering at her from the walls. She swung her eyes around to the door, which had let her in, meaning to run, meaning to cry out, but it closed upon her. She didn't even see Hoggle throw a sorrowful look at the fearful child as the door slammed shut.

He tried to blank out the look of horror on her face, but every time he closed his eyes, there she was. He rushed away from the sound of those goblin shouts, his eyes hot and damp, and didn't look back.

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Meanwhile, Wren had had to turn and confront the hordes of bawling goblins. There were so many faces! Each a little different but all displaying the same malice and hate. Browning, aged faces, hidden by crudely fashioned helmets or hair, or wrinkled dirty features, screwed up mid-bellow.

She tried to block out the shrieks, but they drilled their way through her defences. She looked at the floor, unable to bear it, and noticed greasy plates and discarded, winding cloth. It had been threaded through giant rings in a rounded pit in the middle of the hall. Sensing someone's eyes on her, she raised her head slowly.

He sat, lopsided and arrogant, in an enormous throne, one leg casually thrown over an armrest. He wore grey close fitting trousers, an elegantly ruffled shirt under a silken waist coat, black gloves, and a smirk that might have made her blush furiously under any other circumstances. He sat in his chair as if he owned everyone and everything, and, technically, he did. He was resting one arm upon the other armrest, a riding crop tapping lightly against one boot, and the other was heedlessly playing with a tasselled throw that had been draped over his throne.

The throne itself was a thing of style, its curved back running behind his shoulders as if it had been designed especially for the position he was sitting in. Which, knowing Jareth, it probably had. The wicked looking horns that adorned the headrest made Wren shiver, which Jareth noted with satisfaction. The whole thing was upon a dais that commanded the attention of the room, and even as Wren looked on, the goblins suddenly became quiet. The hearing, no doubt, had begun.

Jareth stared at Wren a while longer, drinking in the silence that greeted him. Oh, how he loved being the King of the Goblins at times. They watched the pair with baited breath, each soundlessly daring the other to move, speak, and break the silence first. In the end, Jareth stood, and leisurely descended the few steps to the floor. Each footfall pounded loudly in Wren's head, and she dared not look away from those eyes. Every creature in the hall looked on as the tension rose. Jareth reached the ground and began to circle the girl, never once looking away from her. She followed him with her eyes, until he passed behind her, but dignity kept her from twisting her body round to face him. She kept her eyes trained upon the far wall, and she felt his gaze linger over her.

Oh how she hated him.

Eventually, she turned her head, and saw he had stopped behind her, and was smirking that annoying smile of his. He was playing with a crystal, absent-mindedly. He had been waiting for her to face him. She blushed scarlet, realising she was being made a fool, and inside she secretly seethed. As she rounded on him, he looked up from under that mane of unruly blonde hair, and smirked again. He tossed the globe aside with an elegant arch of his nimble fingers, and Wren didn't even bother to hear if it smashed against the stone floor. She knew it wouldn't. Besides, for some reason, she couldn't tear her brown eyes away from his mis-matched ones.

He stepped forward, making the quiet stretch for as long as possible. Wren felt everyone watching her, and her heart beat wildly. What was he doing? He kept coming towards her, and she barely restrained the urge to bolt. She couldn't look away. She didn't notice her feet shuffle backwards, or how with every step he took, she took one of her own, away from him. He never ceased his relentless assault upon her; until she fell back into the pit she had seen when she had entered. She landed heavily with a clatter on the dusty cloth, abandoned plates and stone, and gasped with pain as her right shoulder once again cushioned her fall.

Jareth's eyes glittered with mirth, and he now stood directly over her.

She looked up at the Goblin King, now wandering round the shallow pit back to his throne, and she blushed again. He had manipulated her! She felt so foolish! She almost shouted out in rage, but she didn't. She withheld herself. Unsteadily she got her feet once more, and looked directly at that man she had learned to mistrust and allowed all her anger and hate pour out of herself. This was not the time for an outburst. It even seemed like he was baiting her on purpose just to get this result. No, she had to think clearly.

She took a deep breath, and then looked at the ground.

Jareth watched her intently, but when she didn't fire back at him, he tipped his head to a side. She would be harder to break than he thought. _No matter_. It just meant more sport for him. He had no doubt that he would be able to get to the bottom of whatever this girl was hiding. He seated himself once again, and began a new tactic.

" That's better. Now at least you know your place, girl." He said, piercing the silence purposefully. His eyes narrowed, and that smirk turned dreadfully cruel and commanding. It felt like millions of shards of ice cut into her soul, burning white-hot cold along the way until she was nothing but tatters of her former self. The humiliation brought tears to her eyes, but she ruthlessly quelled them.

She needed a plan. How would she be able to leave this room still human, still alive? Then she had an idea. It hit her as soon as she saw that devastating sneer. She had made him. She _knew_ him.

_Oh, you're going to pay, Jareth._

She didn't say a word; she just looked at him from under her damp hair. She stood legs slightly apart, arms held firmly behind her, chin down, like he requested, but eyes up. Mocking him. She almost smirked herself.

All she had to do was remain calm, she told herself. He was trying to get her angry, trying to get her to shy away, to cry. He wouldn't be able to deal with her if she closed herself off. And Wren was extremely good at this.

_After all,_ She thought. _Am I not 'The Ice Maiden?_'

Jareth noticed the change immediately. She stood, obedient, but rebelling, and her eyes stared unblinking at him. She wasn't being defensive like all the others. She was attacking him.

His smirk wavered.

_What in the Realm was this chit of a girl doing?_

His subjects looked on, unsure what to do. Was this what was supposed to happen? She wasn't trembling, or crying at least. She was _mirroring_ Jareth.

She was standing almost exactly like Jareth would be standing. Her clothes _were_ Jareth's, and the small child had that same malevolent glitter in her eyes… She appeared to be challenging their King!

This was not right _at all_…

Jareth was at a loss. This was very odd.

Wren saw his smile wane, saw him look disbelieving at her. She smirked maliciously.

_Well, what did you expect? That I'd just take this lying down?_

Oh, Wren knew very well how to undo Jareth. To get to him, you had to _become_ him. You had to show him that you weren't intimidated by his act. Wren had to get under the mask to do _real lasting damage._

And if this was how Jareth wanted to play, who was Wren to object? He had sealed his own fate as soon as she had seen him smirk with those perfectly pitiless lips.

_This was war._

And Wren was ready for him.

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My wonderful Reviewers :-

emptyvoices :- You know the drill people, you review first and you get a dedication! This chapter's for emptyvoices. I'm really glad you like Wren, it's so hard to write a character who stands up for herself but knows when to backdown and not look like a Mary -Sue. I hope she didn't come off that way. Please tell me if you think she's turning. lol.

Anji: - Yep, we're going further down the rabbit hole here. And the confusion will all pass after chapter 12... or is it 13. I'm not sure. Well, stuff gets more interesting, let's just say.

Wolf.at.Heart:- Twick was tricky. If you put an 's' at the end, she turns into a chocolate bar, lol. Thanks for your review.

Jordiscy:- Thanks for that, I understand now, lol.

MelodyWolfhart:- Wow, thank you for the review.

Allison K. Okay, here you go! New chapter up! It wont be long til the next one goes up.

Kay, thats all from me, please Read and Review, and I hope you enjoyed it. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Very late, I know. Don't hate me. G.C.S.E's are very evil. Anyway, here is the chapter, and you know the drill. I don't own Jareth etc. But I do own Wren, and she dislikes appearing in random fanfictions without my permission. Just ask if you want to use her, kay? Good. Oh, I don't do this for profit, I do this for fun. No one is paying me for any of this, so don't sue. Cheers.

Okay, very dark scenes coming up, and I may have to change the rating (no sex or anything, just violence and insinuation of sex etc.) so I will tell you when/if that happens.

I personally recommend 'Take Me Away', by Avril Lavigne. By the way, I didn't take the title of the fic from the song, I just stumbled on it this morning, and thought, 'Oh, what a coincidence', listened to it, and loved it. I think it's perfect for the chapter. Right, I'm done now. Enjoy! Read and Review!

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_**Chapter Seven: Thin Black Ice**_

As Wren anticipated, Jareth delivered the first blow, shattering the stillness that had settled over the arena as soon as she had begun this dangerous scheme. She felt like she was walking on the edge of a great abyss, teetering above death. Before her a vast nothingness. She was almost blind as she blundered forward. _Almost._

From what Wren knew of Jareth, he did things to inspire fear. He used his presence, that hypnotic voice, those elegant hands, the way he tilted his head while asking a rhetorical question, all these things, to gain respect and terror. She knew what magic was branded into those fingers. She knew he would use it.

But she also knew he had to keep the goblins' trust. She realised now, that their presence could be used against him. He couldn't lose it while they were here. He couldn't slip… But what if he _did_?

Could she be protected from him if she pushed him _just_ far enough? Too far, and he would kill her, she was sure. Not far enough, and he wouldn't pay any attention to her. She was terrified in that moment when realisation struck. _Really_ struck. She could die today. But she couldn't show her feelings. She mustn't, otherwise Jareth would have her right where he wanted her. One slip on either of their parts, and it would trigger a world of chaos. Suddenly she couldn't breathe. The floor tipped slowly, sickeningly. Her mouth was so dry.

_No!_

Somewhere deep inside called out again, steadying her, soothing her. She could do this. She just had to pretend. She did it everyday, and she could do it now. She would not breakdown.

That was when Jareth addressed her.

'So…_girl. _I suppose I should get to know a little about you. After all, you're going to join these glorious ranks soon enough…' He gestured towards the walls of disgusting goblin faces, and his head tilted, just so.

'Aren't you?' There was that rhetorical question! Wren almost blinked in astonishment. She could read him. Like letters on a page.

She thought about that wonderful line in her book, that line she had taken days to think of, and she had thought of it _that _day. The day Michelle and her cronies had… stripped her of her last piece of dignity. Those magnificent words…

_You have no power over me._

_That _was what got her brain moving. _That_ was what got her to slowly step up from the shallow pit she was stood in. She felt maybe a thousand eyes upon her, and none were so vicious as those of the Goblin King. But she didn't look away from him. She kept staring, daring him to speak.

He remained silent, so she spoke, trying to provoke him.

'No. I have no intention of joining _their_ ranks.' Her voice was faint, but it did not waver. It was as firm as she needed it to be.

Jareth blinked. _Had she just said_…? He glared at her, now stood slightly higher, her eyes cruel.

_No. _That word echoed in his ears. No one had ever said that to him. Ever. He wasn't smirking any more. Oh no. Still, he regained his composure. That blow hadn't hit home. Perhaps this one would…

' Really? Well… we'll see about that then. You are nothing now. You are just a girl with no hope, no dreams, and no life. You are at my mercy. Do you understand that?' He expected her to duck her head, to shuffle backwards, to murmur something, to nod.

' That is merely your opinion. I was never _nothing_. I am not _nothing_. And I may be at your mercy, but I will never _be_ _nothing_.'

Jareth felt anger and humiliation rise within him. How dare she make him feel like _this_? How _dare_ she? She would regret the day she had ever uttered those words that brought her here in the first place.

'My _opinion_? Don't you understand, girl? Here, in the Goblin Realm, my _opinion_ is _fact_.' His eyes blazed.

He slipped out of the chair, and tossed aside his riding crop. It clattered to the ground, breaking an already broken silence. The feelings of anticipation and dread almost roared in Wren's ears. He strolled towards her, each step as painfully precise as the last. The clear click-click of those boots shook her very core, but she didn't move.

' Now we have that settled, what did they _used_ to call you, up _there_?' Jareth waved in the direction of the ceiling, stressing the point that she would no longer be called what she had used to be called. Like it didn't matter. Like she didn't deserve her own name.

Deep, unsettling ire flooded Wren's brain. Her name was her own. No one could take it away from her. Least of all this egotistical king bored out of his wits, who she created!

"My name is Wren. But you already knew that, didn't you?" Wren's legs began to shake but she stilled them. As she asked the question, she tilted her head, just like Jareth had seconds before.

"Why ask me again?" She spread her arms out by her sides slightly, and smiled slowly.

Jareth almost winced. It was like a physical blow. Her insolent questions and disturbing smile started to annoy Jareth. Really annoy him. He felt his anger build dangerously, felt it well up inside him. His fingers itched to send this child into oblivion. But he mustn't. Every goblin had stopped grinning wickedly at each other, and had stopped nudging each other idiotically. Now every pair of eyes were fixed on the two figures in the middle of the floor.

"Ah, yes… " He hissed, even though he felt his power over her slipping. "As I recall, you are … Wren Craft? Such a common name."

_He's really trying to make me angry now, isn't he! Such a cheap shot._

It was amazing… Wren understood what Jareth was trying to do. Get her angry. Make her do something stupid. Then humiliate her in front of everyone.

_That was what he did! That sneaky, manipulative creature!_

Suddenly, Jareth began stepping closer and closer towards Wren, his eyes glinting. He had a new plan.

His mind raced. This was a gamble. Did she really feel as ashamed as he thought? How low would it drag him, to expose her for what she really was? A hesitant tug in his mind told him to reconsider, but Jareth was inflamed. He wanted vengeance, and this child was going to pay for what she had done. But he still couldn't shake that insignificant feeling of dread. No matter.

Jareth reached the girl, and, from this close, he could see her trembling. _What a good actress_! She was completely terrified, but Jareth hadn't a clue until he came nearer. How interesting… She was glaring at him. _That little minx_!

Then… He saw a flash in her eyes. There was her fear. Hiding behind…? Resolve. Determination. _Routine?_

Jareth's thoughts whirled. She did this everyday. Put on a mask; paraded around, pretending to be fearless. This was getting _very_ interesting…

Wren's breath was coming quicker now, and she knew Jareth could sense it. It was over, surely. She couldn't control the shaking in her body, or the hot moisture forming behind her eyes. Humiliation would soon come. Mustn't it?

Her heartbeat was heavily in her chest, and the blood began to roar again in her ears. What was he about to do? Her eyes searched his for something, anything that would tell her what he was thinking, because if she had read his face correctly, she knew what he would do next.

His own eyes were paralysed. Why did she hold his gaze like this? _Why?_

Without warning a wave of nausea overcome them both, making them outwardly wince. Images shot through their heads, light, searing. They were photograph like, but blurred, like remembering a figure from a dream.

Wren gasped. Her image burned into her eyes, into her brain. In her image, she saw a man, standing somewhat untidily, in a haze of light. Her head felt like it would burst, because through the strands of golden light, she made out the cruel set of Jareth's eyes, nose and mouth. She saw his lips curled into a smirk, yet his eyes were tired. He was trying to smile, trying to reassure… her? It was obvious he was concentrating on her awfully hard, then a surge of pain shot through her body, making her cry out. The stifled scream ricocheted off the great halls walls, sending goblins scattering.

Jareth on the other hand, saw a girl. She was small, no more than ten years of age, and her flyaway hair was slightly static. Her eyes were tightly closed, and her teeth were biting hard down into her lip. Her expression was clearly of pain, and he sensed his own magic surrounding her. The crisp fading light that engulfed her came from his own doing, coursing throughout her body. Then, her large liquid brown eyes snapped wide, and she screamed. Her body convulsed, and she was thrown backwards. But she didn't hit the floor. She was suspended in the air. The light died, and she disappeared.

Jareth's mind cleared as he heard a scream. His head turned to look at Wren, his eyes watering. Another unnamed emotion crept up on him, and took hold. He didn't know what to do, as he looked down on that child, her eyes shut. Just like in his vision.

Anger bloomed slowly, as Jareth realised he had been made a fool of again by these rogue emotions. He didn't want to have to feel them, especially when it included this girl. Confused, irritated, and embarrassed, Jareth strode towards Wren, and gripped her upper arms, his gloved hands clenching unforgivably. Her skin, he knew, was covered in bruises, but right now he didn't care. That annoying fleeting emotion ran through him when he heard Wren gasp, and open her eyes. Her fear was unmasked now, and she was staring at Jareth, reflecting his feelings.

What was going on? Why had she just seen that?

Jareth was seething. No more feelings of guilt, no more feelings of foreboding, no more feelings of… affection? …for _her_, this mortal child? His eyes blazed.

He shook the girl violently, trying to scatter the building emotions cascading upon him. He couldn't name them as they filled his mind. Whispers of dreams, images of the girl, her smiling, laughing, saying his name, grinning at him.

_Enough!_

Wren was terrified. What the _hell_ was going on? She tried to struggle away, but Jareth's hands were firm. Then, as if forming a singular, determined thought in his mind, his bore down upon Wren.

"_Who are you_?"

She wriggled, kicked, bit him, but he didn't move, just continued to stare at her, silently demanding an answer. She suddenly pushed him back, causing herself to stumble and fall, but she regained her feet quickly, and backed away from Jareth. Had he gone mad?

Jareth felt the thousands of goblin eyes upon him, and knew he had to do _something_. Then he lunged. His feet were quick on the stone floor, faster than Wren's as she struggled backwards. Too late. He had caught hold of her shoulders, each glove-encased hand digging into her soft flesh, bruising the muscle and skin. She hit his hands away, or tried to, as he held firm. She writhed, wincing at her movement, felt healing tissue rip and repaired skin bleed. And at that moment, Jareth did something he would regret. Deeply. As it was the spark, the trigger, and it ignited her rage. The two figures were hurled into the chaos and uproar.

Jareth ripped her sleeves, exposing her scarred, ruined skin. Shining, pink marks looked sickening in the light of the single window. Words breathed from her flesh, scorching her cheeks, spilling her hot tears of humiliation.

She stared at her arms in shock, not quite believing he would stoop so low, hurt her like this. It was the only lasting thing that reminded her of her disgrace within the confines of her school. A place where she should have been safe. But where she had been pulled down into the filth. And that was what damaged her the most.

She…_trusted?_… him.

_How?_ _She didn't know him! _He was the enemy; he had hurt her like no one else…

_Then why does it feel like he just stabbed my heart out? Why do I feel like this?_

Her shame flared, turned to anger, hate and something deeper.

Betrayal.

_Betrayal? Why… Why would I even trust him?_

And she snapped. With a wail, she tore at his face, bit him, kicked him, anything. But he was too strong. He just threw her to the floor, his own ire bleeding into the hushed silence, filling the room. No one was laughing now.

'See what happens to urchins like her.' He whispered hoarsely, panting. He watched as she raised her face from the floor, a violet bruise blooming across her right cheek where she had hit the ground. She was glowering at him with such hatred, he looked away.

He conjured a shimmering orb from the air, spinning it with relative ease through his fingers, raised it to his lips, and whispered a single word to its surface. It blazed a deep, merciless black, as it sucked in the light from the room, and he threw the crystal down on the girl. The orb plummeted, smouldering, hissing. The surface glazed hot orange, as if the very crystal itself was melting. His smile was triumphant and unfeeling.

_She would pay. Oh yes. She would._

Wren barely had time to scrunch her eyes closed, when a great whirling heaviness enveloped her. Searing heat, dense emptiness, and silence, howling in her ears. There was no sound or feeling or taste. No touch or smell or light. Just nothingness. Just black. Empty oblivion.

Followed by pain.

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Now for my wonderful reviewers:-

**Wolf.at.Heart**:- .:Dedicates to you:. Yup, first reviewer get a dedication. Thanks so much for your review. I really tried hard to get the suspense just right. I'm glad you picked up on it! I'll post again soon.

**emptyvoices**:- Battle of the wills, exactly. Well, this chapter was all about pushing Jareth's buttons, so I hope you like it. ;) You sure Wren's no going over to the 'darkside'? Thank you! That made my day! .:hugs:.

**MelodyWolfhart**:- Yeah, Wren's 14. I thought it might be a bit far fetched, but I just thought, 'Hell, if Sarah could do it, Wren definately can.' Yeah, the plot is about to get VERY thick. About as thick as set jelly... (I'm actually eating jelly at the moment.. yum)

**Jordiscy**:- Ah well, we all know Jareth doesn't go in for big humiliation, so I think this really is what he would do in his position.

**Sammi C**.:- Thanks so much!

**Allergic-to-Paradox**:- Well, since you insist... I might do a double posting... lol. Jareth is very chocolatey...(yum) I was watching Labyrinth this morning, that's what got me all hyped up to write about it. I was so tired... (is teh ill) and I think I have the flu. But at least I got SOMETHING done, lol.

**Anij**:- Lol, thank you! .:hugs:.

Okay, lemme think... Yeah, go on then. Since I haven't been the best updater in the world, and because I feel so ill, (and a little delerious) I'm going to DOUBLE POST!

Please Read and Review? I'm ill, and I need cheering up. Please? (coughs feebly)


	8. Chapter 8

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Part Two of my DOUBLE POST! .:Is getting way too excited:. Her you go. Read and review/Jareth ain't mine/Wren is/Enjoy...

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_**Chapter Eight: Falling From Grace**_

Wren had lost all thought of who or what she was. The sting of change pulsed through her body, she felt her skin tear, felt some kind of magic flow through her blood. Flaring into life. She opened her mouth to scream into the oblivion, silent tears coursing down her face. And she fell. The feeling of dropping, pulled down into the pit of darkness, and she thrashed out, trying to grasp hold of _something_! But there was nothing. Something was building within her, white-hot and dangerous. She could almost feel it scorch her bones. She tightened into a ball, shaking, muted curses falling from her mouth like pebbles, melting into the bleak distance. Unheard.

Two forces were raging inside her, dark, light-smothering power, ripping, destroying her body. And another, simpler force, pale and soothing. It pounded against the blackness, creating new tissue, remaking muscle and bone. They were working against each other, and the strange thing was, the light was winning.

She took a breath, panting and aching. Fresh, clean air plunged down her throat, filling her mouth and lungs.

_Oh God, sweet air!_

She cried out in relief, her broken voice smashing out of the gloom, breaking whatever spell held her. Another breath, another scream. It felt good to live, to cry out. She shrieked once more, as her body defeated the dark, and this time she heard a distinct sound. The sound of a bird, echoing in her head. And she fainted.

Meanwhile, Jareth stood motionless, staring at the space where Wren had been. He breathed shallowly, and wiped a hand across his forehead. He was sweating. With a careless flick of his hand the astonished goblins disappeared. They would turn up somewhere about his kingdom, where they were needed.

He just couldn't look away. The worn stone was cold when he bent to place a hand on the surface. His fingers itched, and he blinked.

She was gone.

What had he done?

Wave after wave of self-doubt, shame, regret, guilt, and pain choked him. He couldn't take it back. He had killed her. _She was… she was…Important_. His brain supplied.

Memories danced at the edge of his mind, sub-conscious thoughts swirled like smoke. Wren… For some reason, somehow, he had to look over her. It was his duty. _But why?_

It didn't matter yet. Not yet.

He stood again, and looked down at his hands. Why were they trembling? Stiffly he walked to the door, and cast a look over his shoulder, eying the great dusty room with disgust. _What the hell have I done?_

He pushed the doors open with a snarl, he didn't care that they smashed against the walls, cracking the wood. The circular passageway was ahead of him, but he didn't even see it. Moisture pressed the back of his eyes, and he strode forcefully for another side door. The castle kept changing around him, but somehow he always knew where he had to go. Forward, left, straight ahead. It was all blanked out by the terrible numbness seeping through him. Great, heavy, soundless sobs wracked his chest.

He heaved an engraved down open, the keyhole blinked up at him even as his shoulders began to shudder. He was within his own chambers, and he stood in a small, well-kept parlour. He moved towards the high backed chair sat by the cold fireplace, the wood blackened and blistered by its previous heat, but now all was still.

Sinking down into it, he dropping his head into his hands, his fine hair shaking with suppressed emotion.

The room was simple, but the few pieces of furniture were well made. The parchment hold by the door was rosewood; its golden finish seemed to gleam sadly within the dark room. The ruffled papers were battered and dog-eared, and had been reread over and over by Jareth's tired eyes. The chair by the fire was velvet, but slightly worn, just like the rest of the castle, it was old and moth-eaten around the edges. Of course, ever since the war began, what good supplies there were were diverted to the inner city. Besides, he did not entertain guests. The only strangers he encountered now were the children who had been wished away, and they very soon became his subjects.

There was little else in that room, except a bound leather stool, and an aged but sturdy table to the right of the fireplace. A dirty throw had been strewn across the flagstones like a makeshift rug, its details ragged. A single solitary window climbed the far wall, letting in a pale, sickly shaft of light. Jareth stared around himself, watching the dust motes dance in the slice of sunlight. He sunk a hand into his hair, pushing back the wheat gold strands, trying to control his tears. A thousand questions buzzed in his mind, flickering, stinging his pride.

_Who was she? _

_Why did I need to protect her?_

_What's going on?_

_Why do I feel like this?_

They pounded in his blood, screaming in his ears, rushed around his head endlessly. He got to his feet, and began pacing, quicker and quicker around the room. The slap of his boots created the tempo for his thoughts, whirling faster and faster.

Click – _How?_ – Click – _Regret_ – Click – _Why?_ – Click – _Guilt_ – Click.

It was driving him mad, so many new, unwanted emotions, streaming through him, and down his face in tears. Tears of anger, tears of self-disgust, most of all tears of loss. Empty, hollow loss.

Black images reeled behind his eyes, pictures that didn't make sense, crazily blinking again and again. Never the same image but always the same face. Pale skin, wide eyes, a dusting of freckles, but never the haunted look he had seen recently. Never the anguish, the disappointment, or the pain in Wren's eyes. This girl was happy. Younger, innocent… Somehow new, untouched by the world.

A flash, a smile, an echo of a laugh, and another memory flew by, before Jareth could catch it, before he could find reason to the madness. It was like an insane slideshow, the pictures flying by faster than his brain could process the information. They built up and up, creating a mental collage of memories, memories Jareth had long forgotten, mounting in realization. Jareth's feet did not stop, his hands did not stop scraping back his hair from his face, his tears did not stop falling, nor did the images. Until he almost felt he had found the key to those locked away secrets… he had almost found a way to penetrate the fog around them… almost pierced the veil…

His pacing came to an abrupt halt when he heard an oddly muffled thump from his sleeping chambers, then a gasp of pain, then silence. He paused, straining his ears. Scuffling, quiet curses, and the rattle of a door handle. He was down the corridor in an instant, as quietly as possible he entered the hallway to his own personal room, and cast a glance at the door handle. It was shaking frantically. Someone was inside. Trying to get out.

He moved a hand over the lock, heard the familiar chink of scraping mechanisms and the lifting of several magic seals and wondered how in the Realm the intruder could have entered without his knowledge. Finally, the door gave, and Jareth readied his magic, collecting a reserve within himself, waiting for the door to swing open and expose the thief. The door swung inwards, and a small figure stopped her frantic attempts at escape.

Wide brown eyes, set in a pale face stared at him in horror.

Wren backed away. All she remembered was falling, endless falling through dense neverwhere, next dropping onto hard stone, and finding herself within the Goblin Castle once more. Trapped. Gaping into the face of her abductor.

Jareth blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, but could find no words. He hesitated; watching Wren slowly shake her head, step after step, retreating back into his room.

_What is she doing here? She should be dead…_

He could not explain the warm flooding feeling of relief, washing through his mind, tension ebbing into nothing, dizzy happiness, followed by irritation and slow anger. He did not care for this child! Whatever this feeling was, it was a lie… some trick. He did not know her!

Finally, words formed themselves within his mouth.

'You… You're _alive…How?_' His hated the croak in his voice; the emotion in his words that part of him did not feel, did not want to feel for the girl.

Wren hesitated. Alive. Of course she was alive. Why wouldn't…

In an instant, the past broke through her confusion. Being humiliated by Jareth, the scars… Then the darkness, eating her alive. That was… Him? He tried to kill…?

'You.' The word fell into the silence. 'You tried to kill me…'

The wonder in Wren's voice was strange. Her chest heaved, her eyes staring at the stone floor, mesmerised by something only she could see. Then she frowned, the reality had not sunk it, and she looked up at him. He was walking slowly towards her. Careful, measured steps. He was trying not to frighten her. He didn't know what she would do.

She continued to back up, her small feet scuffing the floor, muffling the menacing tap of those boots. Jareth's face was pale; his expression blank, yet his eyes held hers with an intensity that scared her. Like a man possessed. Insanity mixed with… Something else that chilled her bones. Something that shouldn't be in his eyes. Not when he was looking at her. Affection. No, more than that. Love.

The bed broke her fall as he started forwards, meaning to grab her before she could run. She fell with a startled cry, the wind knocked out of her as she collided with the bed; Jareth's heavy weight was concentrated on her aching shoulders, his palms gripping the skin tightly so she couldn't push him off. She gazed open mouthed at Jareth, his face held away from hers so she didn't feel too intimidated, but imprisoned at the same time. His arms pushed her to the bed as she struggled, but her hands were useless against his chest.

She was petrified. He had tried to kill her, had tried to destroy her, but she was still alive. She didn't know how, she only knew that if Jareth were to try again, her luck wouldn't soon last. With a heavy sob caught in her throat, her scrabbling hands became still and dropped onto the sheets, and she looked up at him, defeat painfully clear, even to her. If he was going to kill her, he'd better do it now.

'Go on.' She murmured, the shooting pain seizing her chest as her slim shoulders bent back, sinking deeper into the mattress. 'You might as well.'

She winced as his fingers dug into the muscle of her shoulders, the power writhing within his veins itching to set her blood on fire. He could feel her fear, tingling with a strange kind of force flickering behind her being. Flickering… Like a flame, fighting for oxygen. The red heart of the flame suffocating, struggling to stay alight, when yawning darkness presses in… It was so easy to snuff it out, just squeeze her bones a little more…

He paused. What was he doing? He concentrated on her face, looked into her pain filled eyes. Why did he want to hurt her? This child… She had done almost nothing to him. It wasn't her fault if she triggered emotions he couldn't name or control, was it? He knew her. He was almost certain he did. He studied her face. The terror of her death rekindled, and his heart contracted. She mustn't die.

He cared for her. Why? He didn't know. He didn't care.

She was just a child…

She felt his hands soften, his weight carefully lifted off her, and the feeling of arms encircling her waist. He pulled her from the bed, supporting her dazed body against his own. Gentle fingers stroking her hair, his warm throat against her cheek. She stiffened. It felt strange. Wrong. Different.

_What game is he playing with me now? What cruel… terrible… _

…_Warm… breathing… calming… _

…_Jareth…_

Her trail of thought cut off, and she slipped her arms around his neck, breathing in his unique scent of deep magic, so deep he could kill her in an instant. But he hadn't. He had spared her…

_What am I doing? _

The tiny voice of reason was smothered by an instinct she could not trace and she clutched him tighter, one hand sliding down to grasp his pendant, the metal hot from his skin. Her fingers were buried in his ice blonde hair, his taller frame bent around hers.

He didn't know what was happening. Something, something primal, something repressed awoke when she had lain there, cringing in agony, and his reason had abandoned him.

He did know her. She was important. She knew him too; he could feel it in the way she was holding him, in the way she was breathing in his smell. When he felt her fingers curl around his amulet, something happened. A pulse. Rippling through her hand into the twisted metal and into his chest. He smelt burning flesh, and a flash of deep pain seared to his heart.

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Next chapter is VERY interesting... Please read and review? Thanks. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

Alright, it's been a good long time since my last update... And I know Anij is readying her army for deployment... .:hides:. To get to the point, this next chapter is really good... (REALLY good...) and I hope you didn't mind the wait. I had to write it and write up a Jane Eyre essay (by the way, chapter one of 'FFG' will be up soon, for you Jane Eyre fans) AND write Jareth as his confused evil sexy self. I think I deserve kudos for the result, but judge for yourself.

Just in case people think Jareth's too mean in this, he's supposed to be. As in 'I hate you!' mean. Plus half of him wants to hug Wren, the other half wants to kill her, and the other half (yes I know) is just going 'WTF IS GOING ON?'. Let's see how happy you are when you're like that, lol.

Hope you enjoy it and please Read and Review to tell me what you think. There's a whole load of empty in the depths of cyberspace, and I really want to know what you think. I write this for no profit what so ever except your comments.

So yeah, I'm done now. You can read ahead.

Go on. .:points enthusiastically:. ;)

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_**Chapter Nine: 'Truce'**_

Her arms fell away from his at the same time he stepped away. The amulet glowed, a raw surge of energy burnt through his chest and he gasped. He choked and fell to his knees, his fingers tugging at the red-hot symbol until it plunged to the floor, where it lay, hissing at them. He staggered to his feet, a little clumsily and watched it with distrust.

'What- what did I do?' She looked at him, confused and …guilty? Eyes looking for answers. She was shaking as she reached down and brushed the pendant with her fingers, pulling them back quickly in case it burnt her. It didn't. She picked the decoration up and weighted it in her hand. It was still warm, but not hot. Tentatively, her eyes travelled up to Jareth's chest, the burn swollen and red raw. She stepped forwards and rested a gentle hand on his skin before she could stop herself.

Her fingers were warm and soft, careful upon the delicate flesh. He inhaled sharply and glanced down at her hand, a million reactions battling for their say. He hesitated. Her hand was so small.

Wren on the other hand, looked at her fingers in horror. Slowly, almost trembling, she removed her hand and raised her eyes.

The King of the Goblin's stared down at her, astonishment, anger and wonder raging inside him. She had touched him. On _purpose_. She had been concerned about him… _Why?_

As Wren's hand retreated, his own shot forwards and captured it. His fingers wound around her wrist, not painfully, but firmly, so she could not step away. His eyes studied her palm curiously, his mane of white hair falling across his forehead as he bent to examine it. She clenched her hand tightly, looking away, her cheeks growing hot.

She didn't want him to see her scars. A couple crossed the lines of her palm, which was probably why she had never had it read. She was scared of the fact that her lifeline had been slashed in half. She was sure it had meant she was going to die early. She thought Jareth would kill her.

But here he was, holding her hand. She looked at the floor.

Cold fingertips grazed her chin and he turned her head towards him, still leaning forwards, trying to read her expression. His was unguarded, his face asking what his mouth did not.

He was asking her permission.

He could have wrenched her fingers open and exposed her palm in a second, but he hadn't. Her opinion of him wavered.

_He wants permission…_

Her jaw tightened, she averted her eyes and loosed her fingers so they uncurled, her hand face up.

Jareth exhaled gradually and peered at her fingers. He winced inwardly as he noticed a deep cut running across her lifeline, effectively cutting it short. His other hand came up, his thumb sliding over her palm, his fingers under her knuckles. He pinched the skin lightly, barely compressing the muscle between each knuckle. His expression changed a little, she noted, as her gazed flicked to his intent face once or twice. She was very uncomfortable, her face growing warm and her breath came quicker.

_What is he doing? Why is he-_

His fingers had slid up to her scars on her palm, tracing each one, then moving on to the next. She stiffened again and tried to back away, tears pressing at her eyes.

He didn't look up; he just grasped her wrist tighter, causing Wren to gasp in pain. He trailed his finger higher, over the blue lines of her veins, over the shining new skin, over the fine hairs of her arm, now raised in apprehension.

Finally, she found her voice.

'What are you doing?' He ignored her quiet murmur, but pulled her closer, his hands tight on her skin, his face now barely centimetres from her palm. She could feel the exhale of his breath, stirring his fine blonde hair as it fell in strands over her arm. She shrugged her shoulder, his hair tickling her.

He lifted a hand and twisted his fingers, creating a crystal from the air. It shimmered for a second, then he span the glass over the back of his hand. It morphed into something slender and glinting, metal and cold. A blade.

She shrieked, pulling her arm away as the knife descended, but he was too strong! The brutal, _vicious_ edge touched her skin and she screamed, struggling, kicking and fighting against his hands. But she was not strong and her cries went unheard.

Yet the knife did not draw blood. He kept the sharp edge close to her skin, so she could feel the cold, deadly promise it carried, but did not feel it bite.

'Now you can answer some of my questions. _Truthfully_, now, girl.' His malicious glint of victory did not go unseen by Wren. She seethed, and spat at his face, her fingers clawing his skin.

'You _bastard_! You… You tricked me…'

'What? Did you think I was _concerned_ for you?' He smothered a harsh bark of laughter and pressed the knife into her skin.

'Now, you want to hold still. This knife is very sharp and if I take it into my head, I _will_ cut you.' His eyes flashed suddenly and he smirked.

'Don't take _anything_ for granted, dear Wren.' His icy voice froze her. She stopped fighting. He would cut her.

_Oh God._

She calmed herself and began to whisper something again, but Jareth didn't care about her mantras anymore. He jerked her arm towards him and she looked up at him, expectantly.

'You said you had questions. Ask them.' She bit out, the feeling of the metal against her wrist stirring her anger.

He paused, then in a flash, he pierced the tip of her thumb with the knife, the point sinking deep, dark blood welling in the cut. She grimaced and cried in surprise, pain and fear.

His steely gaze was fixed on her face and the set of his jaw frightened her.

'No second chances, Miss Craft, or you'll have to pay the penalty. Now, answer my questions, without the smart replies, _if you please_-' he squeezed the wound between his fingers, watching with satisfaction as her face contorted.

'-And I won't hurt you again-' He relaxed his hands and she barely suppressed a whimper as he towered forwards. His hand clenched once more as he whispered –

'_Much_.'

She lifted her head and leaned up, purposefully drawing close to his face so that he could feel her rage and said, her voice level and devoid of feeling:

'Fine.'

'Good. Let's start, shall we, with the obvious.' He pulled away and surveyed her closely.

'How do you know me?' He began drawing imaginary lines on her flesh with the point of the blade, but his eyes never left hers.

'I don't.' She said, determined to be as unhelpful as possible, given the circumstances.

'Wrong answer.' A thin line of red creased her arm and she swallowed her shout of injustice.

'It isn't wrong. I don't know you. I've only met you today. How could I possibly know you?'

'Then why the concern for my welfare? That little touch, that affection in your eyes. I have given you no reason to …care for me,' The image of her lying on a bed, his cloak pooling around her flashed into his head, but he dismissed it.

'So, where does the feeling come from?' A second line of sore, damaged skin joined the last and she clenched her teeth.

'You mean you don't know me either? I thought _you_ knew _me.' _She glared at him and tried to wriggle away, but he held firm.

' I don't.' He squeezed her arm, and chuckled as tears slipped down her face. She wiped them roughly away with her tattered sleeve, noticing, for the first time since he had taken her hand, that she was still holding the pendant. This gave her an idea….

_What if…_

Jareth glared at her a moment longer and seemed to be drawing conclusions. The blade stopped sketching on her skin and something crossed Jareth's eyes. Something confusing.

Jareth thought for a moment. He did know her, and well, it seemed… _But how well?_

'Let us deduce then, that we know each other. Quite well in fact, but have 'mysteriously forgotten'. His eyebrows rose as he said this and Wren scowled at him.

'Mysteriously forgotten? Not likely. What are you suggesting, that we were… _friends_?' She wrinkled her nose at this, which received a short laugh from her captor. He moved closer, barely inches away from her and her stomach dropped.

_Oh no… _

Something terrible blazed in her head when he came closer.

_Oh no, oh no, oh no…_

Something very, very wrong.

'I did not mean…"friends". I do not have "friends".' He was very close now, so close; she could feel each inhale of his chest against her ill-fitted shirt. She stepped away instinctively, but he pulled her back.

His own mind writhed at the thought of ever having… intimate relations with a _child_, but there was a very easy way to find out if their connection had progressed that far. He almost shuddered, but he had to know… He couldn't live with the knowledge that he could be… He was cruel, he knew that, but he didn't… His morals at least were… He had never…

'You might want to hold still.' He mentally prepared himself. It would be over in a few seconds…

Wren looked at him, disgustedly. She tried to wriggle away, but it was no use.

'You have _got_ to joking. You don't _mean_…We… ' She tensed and turned her face away, but a strong hand took her jaw between fingers and thumb and then there were lips against hers, forcing and awkward. Sickening and damp and his breath was on her face…

_This is wrong!_

Without thinking Wren threw her left hand, still clutching the amulet, into Jareth's face, knocking the monarch backwards, burning his cheek. The evil hiss of burning skin filled the air and he gripped his cheek, fury in his eyes.

She scrambled backwards, spitting on to the floor, trying to erase the revolting feeling of his mouth against hers from memory. She shuddered and looked up at the man before her. His skin was reforming, healing at an impossible rate, the skin glinting coldly to form a large scar across his right cheek. He touched the flesh experimentally and seemed to calm.

'You touch me again, so help me, I'll put your eyes out!' Wren muttered and readied herself for his next attack, which was sure to come soon.

However, Jareth was not raging at her, hate and anger boiling in his eyes, his mouth stretched in a feral snarl. He was wiping the back of his hand against his mouth, obviously repulsed and… relieved?

He looked up as she spoke and did something so out of character, so disturbing, Wren blinked and backed away hurriedly.

He began to laugh. Deep throaty laughter, relief and joy blatant on his face. He was laughing, after what had just happen! Wren clenched her teeth. It was a joke! Her temper reared.

Jareth calmed quickly upon seeing Wren step forwards, glowing amulet in hand, eyes flashing in righteous anger and indignation.

'Calm yourself. I'm not going to try it again. It was… an experiment. Thank the Realm you failed…' He wiped his mouth again and stretched his jaw, trying to get rid of the feeling.

_Thank the Realm… I'm not… I didn't… I didn't _feel_ anything…_

'Why the hell did you do that?' She took a deep breath, still on the balls of her feet, ready for anything. She lifted the amulet in her hand as he took a step towards her and he held up both hands.

'Don't you come _near_ me.'

They stood a few meters apart for a moment. Wren shuddered again and Jareth's eyebrows shot up, he chuckled once more.

'If we had ever been… intimate, any romantic situation like that could have reawakened it. It didn't feel… natural…' He grimaced. 'So we were never…' He left the sentence hanging. Wren's shoulders slumped, relief and fatigue finally getting the better of her. She edged backwards, not taking her eyes of the man before her and felt around behind her to brush the bed with her fingers. She sank gratefully onto it and stared up at him in annoyance.

'But why did you have to kiss me? I mean, it was… disgusting! I thought… Well… Thanks for wasting it.' She gazed angrily at the floor, a bitter frown on her mouth.

Jareth looked at her in confusion. _Wasting…_?

'Wasting what?' He stepped to a side and leaned his sore shoulders upon the wall, easing the muscle against the cold plaster. He folded his arms over his chest, concentrating on the girl currently sat on his bed.

She sighed down at her hands, now in her lap, thinking for a second. Then she threw her head up, making her hair fall away from her face.

'My first… Probably my last, now. My only. So thanks so much.' She fiddled with the amulet. It wasn't even warm.

'Don't touch me again.' This last sentence was like an after thought, but it held such steel, Jareth thought she had been through hell and back to say this to him. And she had.

He looked at the floor. _Her first kiss_. He understood now. He had stolen it from her. She would never get it back. He was still surprised he even cared, when she stood up. She looked him in the face, and said, quite clearly;

'I'm hungry. So either hurry up and turn me into a goblin or a dwarf or something, so I can go to the kitchens to get something, or let me stay as I am, and give me something to eat.'

He stared at her. He blinked. His mind went blank for anything sharp and biting to say. It was his responsibility, after all. If she became one of his subjects, he had to feed her. If she remained, she was a guest. Or a prisoner. In any case, she looked incredibly pale, and Jareth did not want her to go fainting all over his bed any time soon. He also didn't want his subjects to know about her sudden reincarnation, so he blocked her way as she tried to pass him to get to the door. She sighed gustily.

'Oh?' She looked expectantly at him, and lifted the amulet. He hit her hand away slightly with the forearm of his own, and she looked quite put out. She scowled.

'Well, get on with it then. I'm tired of waiting for you to make a decision. You're the King of the Goblins. Start using your authority.' He glowered at her, his own towering height far out doing her own 5"5, yet she raised her chin in defiance.

She folded her arms.

'Don't defy me.' The words slipped out, and he paused. A flash of a face, round and pale, similar to the girl's but… different. Darker hair, greener eyes, soft surprise and a smile that tortured his soul because it was never directed to him. And she was gone.

It happened so quickly, it was as if someone had thrown a great spear of lightning into his mind, and as the intense light and pain cleared, so did the image. It was only a second, it lasted so short a time, and Jareth longed for that ache again, the feeling of joy smothered by helplessness. At least it was joy. Pure, captivating joy, accompanied by such a burning regret, he felt moisture press at his eyes. And that girl… He saw the girl now as he looked into Wren's face. There, that woman, so enchanting he couldn't look away.

He began to raise a hand to stroke her cheek, make sure she was not a dream. He felt soft, yielding skin under his fingertips, and the dream was real. For a moment, she was there. Then the image leaked away.

Pain. Hot. Burning. Searing into his hand as he was dragged back to the surface of his mind. Gasping, he snatched his hand away, and blinked at the child, at her plainer, muted face. Now he looked at her, she held little resemblance to the woman he had seen. She was gone. Even calling up her image once more was difficult, and the woman was submerged in wreathes of memory. Sunken, like a treasured possession as it slowly flits under the water, the light finally leaving her face, her features turning dark and obscured. She was lost.

Wren watched him distrustfully. What was he doing?

He looked dazedly at her, as though he could not place her features. He blinked again, slowly, and Wren saw such confusion and genuine sorrow in his face she lowered the amulet and stepped away.

'What is it?' She murmured, trying to figure out what he was doing, what he was thinking. She didn't like his swinging moods, always contradicting each other, always colliding. She was always in the middle of it!

He came out of his delirium when he heard her voice, and he shook his head at her, trying to capture the image again. But he couldn't. Gradually, the confusion and regret left him, and he looked up at the terrified child once again.

'You are… _Hungry_?' He stared at her again in mild astonishment.

'Well, yes, if you must know. I haven't eaten in…' She paused. How long had it been? '…Two days. I think.' She concluded. She looked at him, realisation on her face.

'Have I been here longer? How long was I asleep after you… threw me.' She gasped and looked down at herself. She angled her head to look at her shoulder, the one that had been badly bruised even before Jareth's attack. She pulled the shirt collar down so she could see her skin clearly. It was unmarred.

She ran a hand down her calf, feeling for that dull ache of an old bruise, one that should be still healing. No pain.

Her fingers hesitantly crept up to her scalp, her fingertips sinking into her thick mousy hair, pushing it aside. The was a small bump on the back of her head, insignificant really, except if that had healed so fast, surely…

He had been watching her the whole time; from the other side of the room, and he saw the exact point in which she realised he had healed her.

'You? Why did you heal me? I mean, you were only going to go and try to kill me… again…' She breathed a laugh. 'Well, not the first time someone's tried to do that, anyway. But why did you help…'

Memories. Thick, fast, terrifyingly real. She lifted a hand to her forehead and swayed.

Jareth carrying her to the bed, chuckling… Even now she could feel the vibrations in his chest. The same man laying a warm hand on her brow as she shivered violently. Humming… Watching over her.

They were all wrong. None of those actions could describe the man who stood, silent, in front of her. They were different men.

She breathed in as the memories ceased, and sat down heavily on the bed, panting.

'Flashbacks… Why do they keep happening to me?' She said in a way of explanation. She gazed at him, still stood away from her. But he had moved. Towards her. When she had her eyed closed, when she was having visions of her past… Did he come forwards to help her?

'Us. Why do they keep happening to us… Wren, what-' He sighed.

'What?' She looked at him puzzled.

'I recall you said you name was Wren Craft, is this so?' She nodded.

'In that case, I will call you Craft. Your first name sounds so… informal.' Unusually clumsy with his words, Jareth wracked a hand through his hair and came towards the bed.

Wren had forgotten about the amulet, now around her own neck so he couldn't knock it out of the way again if he tried anything, as she was still contemplating her new name.

'Craft. I don't like it. But fine. Call me what you want. Call me 'Hey you' for all I care. I'm still going to call you Jareth-' She raised a hand at his indignation as he sat down a few feet from her.

'Well, I'll call you 'Your Majesty' if you call me 'Miss Craft'. Deal?' She held out her small hand and he stared at it, a slight frown furrowing his brow. A deal?

'Fine.' He fitted his hand around hers, and shook it.

'Good. Now, Your Highness, I believe you mentioned food.'

He fell back onto the bed, obviously exhausted and bewildered.

'I didn't. You did.' He muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his slender fingers. 'As I was saying, we keep having 'flashbacks', as you call them. We need to deduce why.'

She rested her head against the wooden post of the bed, which supported the canopy above them. She began to trail the pattern with her fingers as she thought.

'Okay. So, we know each other well, but… erm… Apparently, not that well, as you're experiment didn't exactly work. It was awful.' She rubbed her mouth with her hand again.

He smirked and sighed a chuckle.

'Yes, I'm fairly certain we were never that close.'

'Well, how could we have ever been close? I'm "fairly certain" I hate you.'

'The feeling is mutual…' Came his gruff reply, and Wren heard ill hidden amusement in his voice. She smiled to herself.

'Right. But how do we address the problem of my having written you?' She glanced over her shoulder at the king, now sprawled on the bed, apparently resting.

At this his eyes opened and he sat up, resting on his elbows.

'Ah yes, it would seem I am a figment of your imagination.' He looked at her, this child, now perched on _his_ bed, wearing _his_ amulet, dressed in _his_ clothes… How in the Realm did he get into this situation? He watched her as she span around, folding her legs under her, leaning her back against the bed post, sighing.

'What are you thinking now? Come on, if we're going to sort this out I'm going to need a little input from you. You're a lot older than me, I'm guessing… Actually how old _are _you?' She leaned forwards eagerly, but gave up when all she received from him was a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk.

'Fine, but I know you're older than me. Let's have some of that wisdom then.'

He pushed himself off his elbows and sat up fully, his leg bending so he could rest his arm on his knee. He leaned back against the headboard and waved a hand vaguely. A shimmering ball of light appeared in his hand, swiftly turning from bubble to crystal, and he swayed it through his fingers, watching it dance before he answered.

'Before we figure that out, I need to know more about you. If I understand someone's dreams,' he glanced up at her, 'And nightmares, I can understand their past actions. I do not understand you, however. This means you have the upper hand, as I'm fairly sure you know and understand me. We will not debate as to how.'

He threw the crystal to her, sure that because she was not looking at it, only into his eyes, that she would miss. But she caught it in her hands, bringing it tight to her chest. She didn't even look at it as she did so.

_Interesting…_

He inclined his head. 'Good catch. Usually people drop them.'

She looked open mouthed at him, then down at the crystal. She had not even realised she had caught it. She didn't think.

'What do you want me to do with it?' She said, eying him with suspicion.

'Just breathe on it, then drop it onto the bed.' He flicked his fingers as he said this, and the crystal glowed golden. She peered deeply into the sphere, mesmerised by its beauty. There was something in there… She tore her eyes away. What she had seen was not so beautiful as it had first seemed. She looked at the bed, not seeing it, her mind dwelling on what she had witnessed. She bit her lip. She should not have looked so deep.

His voice broke her thoughts.

'Do not look again, Miss Craft. Looking at other people's dreams without express permission is not… polite. Just do as I said.'

_His dreams…_

She nodded numbly, still shaken, and pursed her lips, lifting the crystal to her mouth. She blew on the globe, and noticed he was watching her intently. The stillness within him had returned, and Wren knew if she tried to trifle with him now, she would not win.

Her warm breath seemed to be absorbed by the glistening orb, and the golden light turned golden brown, pulsing with red flame. She held it in her outstretched hand, and loosened her fingers. The surface of the globe rippled softly, as it fell to the bed, but it slowed as it plummeted. It hovered, barely an inch above the material of the bed-throw, the light within it sending the dark cloth pale gold. The brightness danced, sparks flaring within the crystal then dying, extinguished by the evil glow of the red light. Her mouth hung open, and she heard Jareth's quiet gasp of recognition, heard the rustle as he leant forwards. The orb trembled, then rose, slowly spinning on an axis. It lifted itself to Wren's eye level, and she reached a finger to touch its surface. Jareth began to speak, to stop her, but her gentle push on the side of the crystal sent it floating towards him. The two observed it drift unhurriedly over to Jareth, the golden light intensifying as it came closer. He reached his hand to it, and it seemed to go to him willingly. He stared at it cradled in his hand, disbelieving.

She waited, not sure what to expect, but whatever it was, by his expression, it did not seem good.

Finally he spoke.

'How can you have done this? You have no magical ability if your own, I had checked previously, yet… you can control my own.'

* * *

_REVIEWS!_

Thank you my loverly reviewers!

**Chapter 7**

**emptyvoices:** Thanks so much! Loads more arguing to come, as you'll soon see... Oh, and dedicated to you!

**Allergic-to-Paradox**: Oh, watch Jareth...he's going to be doing some pretty interesting things. Wren will, of course, be the catalyst.

**Anij**: You put this on your favourites? .:squee!!!:. .:hugs for dear life:. .:dances:. .:faints:. .:sends muffin basket:.

**Chapter 8**

**Quinn14:** Shared dedication too! You almost cried? .:hugs:. Just wait. They'll be more tears yet! .:sniffles:. But LOADS of good fun and fluff (this is all I write... of course!) Watch this space, newcomer! lol

**Wolf.at.Heart**: Yeah, they are connected. Deeply. You'll have to wait til... Oh... Chapter... something, to find exactly how. The flashbacks don't exactly help, but you can speculate as much as you like. I'd love to hear what you think about what'll happen... Oh, and I know he's mean in the last chapter. He's meaner in this one. There IS a VERY good reason for it, so just trust me.

**emptyvoices**: Read on! The games are about to begin! ;)

**Allergic-to-Paradox: **There is a good explanation, don't worry. You're a Jareth/Wren junkie? lol! How exactly? Romatically or friendly, cause I think he's a bit old for her. Not for me though... ;) A whole year makes all the difference, doncha know. .:g:.

**Anij**: .:hides from army:. Aha! .:posts!:. Here! Take this offering! lol Glad you're enjoying it Anij! And THAT was agony... Oh dear. You are SO going to kill me before I finish it... That wasn't even a big cliffy. THIS is a moderate cliffy. I'll try and post sooner.


	10. Chapter 10

Serious dark stuff coming up, people. Brace yourselves. Here come's hurricane Wren. Hope you enjoy, I own nothing, and please R &R. Cheers!

Music Suggestions: Fix You, by Coldplay, She Will Be Loved, by Maroon 5, or White Flag, by Dido.

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_**Chapter Ten: 'Hate Me'**_

'How can you have done this? You have no magical ability if your own, I had checked previously, yet… you can control my own.'

He did not look at her; he merely examined the crystal, now containing her breath, her very essence, his brow lowered.

'This is becoming very interesting…' He murmured to the surface of the sphere and its interior blazed. The swirling mist bent this way and that, curling into shapes, a face, screaming. The red light condensed into two balls of tight light, and swam to the eyes, which had been vacant. They formed irises and pupils, the eyes now whole; he could see the pure hate in the face's expression. The pain. The rage. The agony.

Then the golden light sparkled deep within the globe, seeping over the face's mouth, smothering its cries. It bled past its lips and into its mouth. The face's silent screams faded and a kind of peace flickered in its ruby eyes, until slowly, the blistering flame retreated, to be replaced by the golden shine. The face closed its eyes, its mouth a noiseless sigh of joy.

Jareth's own mouth parted. The face was familiar. Its twin was watching him, even now. He lifted his head and the girl crawled towards him, her small limbs creasing the sheets, occasionally entwining a foot or hand in the material until she reached him. She sat straight in front of him and rested on her feet so she was not much shorter than him. Hesitantly, she reached her hand to the globe, seeing what he had seen. Her face... At peace.

'What do the colours mean?' She asked tentatively, stroking the surface of her crystal.

'The dark brown is your own dreams, desires and fears. It holds no shine, can you see?' He twisted his hand, the sphere catching the pale light from one of the paneless windows. The rich brown did not reflect; it remained dull.

'This means you have no power of your own, nor can you develop any along the course of your life. You will be a mere, helpless mortal, _forever_.' She snorted as he dwelled on the words 'mere, helpless mortal forever' and cast him a scathing glance. He gave her a ruthful smile in exchange, and continued, 'however, as _my_ amulet proved, you can channel power, or mine at the least. That talisman helps to concentrate my magic, it… directs it. Somehow you have been able to use it against me,' He scowled, 'I have yet to find out exactly how.'

'Okay, brown equals me… so gold is you?' She repeated slowly.

He winced. 'Yes, that will do for the present. Although, the gold is not mine directly. It is mine, as in it originated from me, but I cannot control it any longer. Only you can. It is… impure, now. It has mixed with your polluted mortal blood and essence, if you will, and is no longer any use to me.'

She looked at him sceptically, and replied resentfully, 'Well, that's not my fault. I didn't know I could do that. Besides… My blood isn't dirty or anything.'

'Yes, I'm afraid it is. Full of disgusting human cells and common elements…such as iron, for example.' He grimaced. She prodded him with a sharp finger and he added angrily, 'I am your king, so you should be showing me more respect than that, girl!' His eyes narrowed.

'Ahem,' She lowered her voice, trying to gain his tone,' I am your authoress, Jareth, and as such, I expect a vast more respect from _you_!' She dropped the tone, and adopted a more regal air to her own voice,'And as neither of us are getting any, I think such fancy formalities should be abandoned until we work out whom has more power over _whom_.' She finished with a flourish, but when she met his enraged eyes she tried to edge away.

He dragged her arm close to him with a vice like hand, his face too close to hers and snarled, 'Child, I am many centuries older and many ages wiser than you. When you govern your own Realm for as long as I have, then you can begin to tell me how to behave to an abandoned child such as yourself. Until then, I suggest you keep your head down and act as submissive as possible. I will not tolerate such –'

He stopped talking, watching her as she became limp within his grasp. Silent giggles wracked her body, tears squeezed from her eyes, and her stomach quivered with suppressed mirth.

He released her, unsure of how to proceed.

She gradually became more audible as the seconds wore on, and Jareth waited impatiently for her to breathe again. Eventually she caught her breath and looked up at him. She bit her lip.

'Sorry… You were monologuing…I know you're used to people being terrified of you and everything…' She wriggled deeper into the mattress as he leaned over her, placing his hands on either side of her head and angling his neck around to be directly above her. He did not look happy.

'And I am, it's just… It's strange. It just came out.' She finished, rather clumsily, and he raised his eyebrow again, but lifted himself away from her so she could sit up.

'I won't poke you again, if that's what you want.' He gave her a withering look, and she swallowed.

'Anyway…,' She looked at the crystal, now on the bed covers, for a distraction, 'What does the red symbolise?'

He was momentarily diverted by this question and he plucked the crystal from the bed, inspecting the colours once again.

'Well,' he began, not sure what to say, exactly. In truth, he didn't know. All he knew for certain was that it was probably linked with the dark cloud within Wren's subconscious. She obviously was not aware of it, or she knew it was there and was acting... He peered at her.

She _was_ a very good actress.

'Miss Craft… This will be a very personal and invasive question, and I fully expect you to answer it.' He rested a hand over her wrist and she glanced down, the fear of pain and surprise blatant on her face. She flushed as she saw he was looking at her marred flesh, and tried to pull her arms away. He caught hold of one and she made a noise in the back of her throat. A smothered whimper or a silenced cry of fear, he didn't know.

Something within him had become accustomed to Wren Craft. Somewhere in the few days she had been around him he had come to care about her, and she obviously cared about him. Possessiveness was in his nature, he knew it, but the fact that she was hurting herself made him mentally twinge. She mustn't hurt herself…

He knew he was a hypocrite. He had tried to do great harm to her, and yet… in this frame of mind, he could not think of a single reason for such past actions. He was _ashamed_ of his conduct towards her…

'I –' The apology died in his throat. He never apologised to anyone, least of all a _filthy_ wisher, a chit of a girl who tried to humiliate him in front of his subjects.

Different opinions of her wound through his mind, constricting tightly, demanding a decision be made.

He cared for her.

He hated her.

He needed to feel a definitive emotion, or at least a stronger emotion, but the affection he felt was not possible. He couldn't… He wouldn't… He had never felt for another like this… It was pure. No lust, no greed. Pure affection.

It terrified him.

Looking at her bare arms, the smooth skin destroyed by blade stroke after blade stoke, he still felt no pity. The two conflicting emotions battled within him. He was appalled, confused and genuinely _glad_ she had had to endure such pain.

He was horrified by those thin sickening marks, snaking around her arms. Confused by how she could destroy herself in such a way. But gladdened because he _hated_ her.

_No… that's not right. _

Pulsing thoughts, colliding, crashing inside his head. He was so sorry… So sorry she had to endure pain, grief… loss. Everything he had ever inflicted on her. He didn't pity her. The feeling never even crossed his mind, especially as the terrible feeling of pleasure, pleasure at the expense of her childhood, crept silently across his thoughts.

He felt like he was going to scream…

Savage victory then agonising regret. Two different emotions meshing together to form a new, alien sensation, something that allowed them both to contribute to his actions, separately, silently tearing him apart.

And it didn't _work!_

He was her cruel master, her hollow executioner, her bewildered but willing slave, her open friend, her savage protector even just an observer to her inner pain, and _he didn't know where he stood. _Confusing coursing reactions to her gasp of dismay clouded his brain.

She waited for his mouth to open again, for the question to pour out, for an explanation, anything…

As the terrifying rush of uncertainty and disorder took over his mind, two words fell from his mouth. They forced themselves from his throat, choking the air and stilling his senses.

'I'm sorry.'

They were so quiet. The hush that followed was deafening as all movement in her body stopped, save for her heartbeat. It pounded dully in the silence. He could hear the roar of her blood in her veins, the shallow inhale from her mouth. Then the rustle of fine material over soft bedding as the child struggled backwards. She pulled her hand from his unresisting grasp as his head fell forwards an inch. His eyes looked without looking at the blank sheets, at the indentation where she had rested.

She ruffled the covers as she fought her way off the bed and onto the stone floor. She took two hesitant steps backwards and paused.

He hadn't moved.

_I'm sorry… _

She had heard a lot of lies in her few years, but this just made her sneer. He was sorry? Hollow, dead words ringing in her ears. He didn't know the meaning of the word.

_He was bloody sorry?_

He had stolen her from her home, after knocking her _comatose_, then healed her so he could inflict _more_ physical and mental pain upon her. He had attempted to kill her after making her attend a ridiculous hearing, then had forced a kiss upon her aghast mouth after nearly breaking her shoulder blades. He had done all this and _humiliated_ her along the way, and he was _sorry_?

'You have no _right_. Don't you _dare_ feel sorry for me!' She screamed at his figure on the bed. His empty eyes were not looking at her.

'Look at me.'

He did not lift his head.

'_Look at me_!' Gradually, his fine hair shifted and he craned his neck up to meet her eyes. But they held no substance. They were still blank.

She walked the few steps to the bed in a second and took his head in her hands, pushing her face into his and yelled into his vacant eyes.

'You have _no right_!' Sobs rose in her chest but she forced them down, her shoulders heaving, her eyes watering.

'You have… no right…' Tears swelled in her eyes and fell upon his shirt. Her hands loosened and her legs trembled.

'Don't you dare…don't you… I _hate_ you!' She backed away, shaking, her arms still raised in fear.

He swiftly got to his feet and she stumbled backwards, his towering height bearing down on her. Her eyes narrowed and she ran towards him, hitting his chest with as much force as she could muster. He staggered back a little, but she could not hurt him much. She cried openly now, great heavy gasping sobs heaving her chest and shoulders, her little fists balled and striking his torso again and again.

Between each blow and every sob she cursed him, even as his arms crept around her slender shoulders.

'I hate you…' Her cries became feeble and panting, and she sniffed hard, rubbing the back of her hand against her wet mouth and cheeks.

'You're not allowed to pity me. I wont let you. You have to hate me… Hate me!' She demanded as she was pressed into his warm chest, his arms curling around her body, effectively pinning her own arms to her chest.

'No! Hate me! You have to hate me! You can't… I couldn't…' The rest of her words were lost in her wracked sobs. Her weeping face was turned away from his chest, her chin buried in the muscle of his crooked arm. One hand was buried in her knotted hair, the other securely around her shaking waist. Her cries had become silent, no more than suppressed emotion pouring from her damaged soul.

He held her because it seemed to him the right thing to do. And because she needed someone to hold. Someone who she neither trusted nor knew. A stranger who cared about her, more deeply than even he could know. He dropped his forehead to the top of her hair, her head still trembling. He clutched her tighter to his chest, and she took a great gasp of air, shuddering against him.

When it all came to its plainest form, she was just a lost and frightened girl. And he was a lost and confused man. And somehow they had come upon this situation, and neither knew what to do. It was a truce of kinds.

He felt her hot tears seep through his shirt and fall onto his arm, gathering in droplets and didn't care that he had to hate her.

She felt his thin fingers stroke her nape gently, brushing her hair from her skin, a decidedly intimate act and didn't care that she had to hate him.

'Why are we- Why do we-?' Her muffled question rang in the stillness, and Jareth raised his head a little. His arms loosened.

'Because I hate you.' He said, hollowly. Even to him, the word "hate" didn't mean anything now when applied to her. He wondered for a second why, but then the question was eaten up and it didn't matter anymore.

'Yes.' Her numb reply held as much enthusiasm as his answer.

His arms fell away, but she leaned forwards and whispered 'No' before she could stop herself.

'Wait.'

He nodded slightly, and rearranged his arms around her.

'No, I mean, look.' She was staring at something in her hand… It was glowing.

She was holding his pendant in her palm, but the dancing light did not come from the twisted metal as before. An orb glittered just above the amulet, swaying a little.

It was dull brown, flashing ripples of gold and scarlet shot through the core, and Wren stared at the bed. The globe was gone. It had been attracted to her for some reason. No, not to her. She looked at the weight in her hand. The amulet.

Tentatively she lifted the orb in her hand until it was at eye level. She saw shapes reflected in the depths, she saw people, faces, laughing, sneering, blades, and pain, pain, pain…_No! Pain! Oh God… Stop it, stop it, _stop it

She dropped her hand, and the orb hovered in the air for a moment, then fell. She stepped back, and it hit the stone floor with an inaudible smash. The fragments dissolved. She pulled the amulet from her neck savagely and dropped that too. She shuddered and was surprised to feel a warm hand upon her upper arm, grazing her skin softly. She looked up into Jareth's mismatched eyes with reproach, and knocked his hand away as she retreated.

'Don't ask me.' She couldn't keep the pleading from her voice as she took step after step away from him, stood motionless, staring at the shadows sliding across the floor.

He had seen her dreams, the usual for a girl her age. He had seen her desires, stirring and new; budding into fresh exciting emotions, with strong hints of physical attraction. These things were common in someone of her age, simple, almost innocent in their delicacy. But he had also seen her fears and nightmares. They were the things creating the scarlet lightning. They were the things that created the dark, nearly evil cloud in her mind. They were the things lurking in her childlike imagination, stealing her innocence and joy, one by one, before their time was done. She was losing pieces of herself to that weight on her mind. And she would never get them back. He had seen the things that hurt her while she thought she was safe. Things in her mind that wrapped around her senses and fooled her into thinking she was worthless. Things that were slowly weighing upon her, driving into her soul. Aging her, slowly, through pain. Weathering her emotions, strengthening her feelings it was true, but strengthening her fear of others, of intimacy with anyone.

He met her petrified eyes and didn't even have to ask the question. He just knew. From her reactions, from snatched glimpses, from half memories and part dreams, he knew what they had done to her.

He came forwards. She tried to avoid being blocked in again. He drove her back.

The scars. Step. He thought she was hurting herself.

Step. She took another back.

She wasn't.

Step. She hurried back again.

_They were._

Step. Her back collided with the wall, the stone forcing her into his presence. Pressed between her worst enemy, her cruel master, her hollow executioner, even her savage protector. Her eyes strayed to his hands; they were clenched. His face, it was closed. His eyes, they were empty again. His mouth, minutes before had been pressed against hers, forced upon her, his mouth slightly open, his lips parted.

He saw them.

He saw.

Holding her down in the bathrooms before, after, even during classes. There was a group, oh they were the lowest forms of humanity, he saw it all now. He saw it in his mind. In her mind.

He could see the child in front of him. Pinned to the floor after being beaten so much she could barely even lift her arms to protect her battered skull. Then out came blades. Small compasses and sharpener blades at first. The someone pulled out a mobile phone. A flash, and a kitchen knife appeared. Smiles, shouts of enjoyment. Then her limp body tried to get up, her hair falling in her face so she couldn't see the fists. Doubled over, she fell to the floor again, curling into a ball. Pathetic whimpers, then sobs. She was trembling.

The hard floor was wet with her hot tears, her cheek pushed against the tiles, held in place by a rough fist, matted in her brown hair. Her trembling angered the other children in the bathroom. About ten of them this time, but he knew there had been more before. Someone seized her arm, the old scars glistening in the flickering light. The bulb had been turned on, but the lamp above then was broken, so only flashing shadows hid them from complete view. The only true darkness was in her eyes. She couldn't feel the pain yet. Not any more. She would feel it soon, though. The cut was deep, oozing. She didn't struggle anymore. She couldn't.She was too tired.

Then still. So still he didn't think she was breathing. Her eyes wavered, moisture forming behind shut lashes. Wet cheeks flaming, full mouth bruised and bleeding, just like the rest of her body. Dead inside.

This was after school… The teachers were leaving. The girl had waited in the bathrooms, waiting for the others to leave. They hadn't. Waiting in the shadows.

They had been waiting for easy prey. Oh, he saw them all for what they truly were. Disgusting… Truly repulsive.

That girl. She was real. She was here. She was staring him in the face, her eyes open now, her mind open. Just standing there. So close he could reach out and… His fingers brushed her skin, and she flinched away…

_Yes. Touch her. She's real. She's there. Oh, she's here. Different than before but still the same. Still lost. Still cold. Still dead._

He could see her lip, bruised and bleeding from her teeth. She had bitten down in her lips to stop from screaming. He could see it now, even though in the present it was healed, he was still in the past.

He reached out a hand, his fingertips grazing her lip, in his eyes bleeding and sore. His fingers were soft, even in his present state of delirium, as they swept across her intact lower lip.

She tried to back away, but the wall pushed her closer. She couldn't run anymore. He was right there. So real, so right in front of her. So close. Again…

It seemed they could not help dancing around each other the way they did. It seemed the only thing they did now was fight and come too close. Too close for them both to handle. It seemed they were too closed for such intimacy.

His skin against her lip had scared her. She turned her face away, tried to run, even when such a thing was impossible, and shut her eyes as she felt and saw his other hand come up to block her path. It was stretched out, the palm against the cool stone. She tried to duck under it, but his hand shifted to waist height and she walked into it. She jumped when his wrist brushed her belly and stumbled back, shaking. Her chest heaved as he leaned closer, far too close for her liking, towering above her head.

_He knows… He knows, he knows, he knows, he knows-_

She turned to her left, and his other hand hit the wall, right in front of her eyes. She winced, leaning as far away from those unreadable eyes as she could. What would he do to her?

_He was cruel, yes, but would he really take advantage of my pain? Make me tell him everything? Oh God… The knife._

His palms slid down the wall, his eyes travelling to her bare arms again. He saw her shaking, heard her breathing, and could almost smell her fear.

Terrible thoughts crawled around her head like flies. Buzzing with panic then inching over her mind, searching for a way to escape. She attempted to smother them, but they avoided her grasp and settled on something worst.

Her first thought… That he was going to rape her. That might not have been as far fetched as she thought. Her skin crawled much like her thoughts at this point.

_Oh God…_

He was too close; she could feel his stale exhale upon her face.

She couldn't do anything. She looked down for the amulet, but in horror she realised she had thrown it to the floor in her rage.

_Stupid!_

A ringing filled her ears. He had taken hold of her arm again. His cold hands swept over her skin, over her scars, over her shame. She could feel the intense pounding in her veins and her pulse deafened her. Her skin tingled, was warmed by some kind of unseen heat. It wasn't his flesh and blood that warmed her; it was the shiver of magic. She could feel it, flowing through her skin, soft but some how suffocating. The feeling was not pleasant, and she grimaced as she tried to draw away. He held tight. No escape that way. No amulet to protect her. No way out.

She watched him, muttering something under his breath, and waited for the inevitable feeling of sinking, the thin darkness or destruction. She waited for that knife, for it to come spiralling out of nowhere, and pierce her skin until she cried in her pain and told him everything.

She waited.

She waited.

A warm flash of gold tinged light, the feeling of melting skin, burning flesh, the hiss of pain. She whimpered as her eyes sank closed and she pressed herself further against the wall.

Then everything was very still.

She opened her eyes. It hadn't occurred to her in those few short seconds she had trusted him. Trusted he would make it quick, or that it wouldn't hurt as much, or that he wouldn't do anything at all.

Now she glanced down at her right arm. The skin was smooth. Undamaged. Un_scarred_.

Her face drained. He had…

She looked up into his hollow eyes, and realised.

He wasn't apologising; he didn't feel guilty.

He didn't pity her.

She couldn't see anything in his blank eyes, that was what scared her, but as he held his hand out for her other arm, she felt her hand lift.

She felt her wrist place itself into his palm.

Felt his fingers curl firmly, but somehow gently around her bruised skin.

Felt her pulse roar.

Felt her eyes flicker shut.

And realised what trust was.

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My Reviewers! glomps 'em all

**emptyvoices**: Thanks for your review, as always! I'm glad you like the interaction, I was wondering if people thought it was too intense, but apparently not. The point is she has no power. None what so ever. She's a helpless mortal. She can't blast a hole through a wall, or live forever, she's just... remarkably plain. On her own, that is. ;)

**Allergic-to-Paradox**: Thank you so much! I'm really glad you like it so much, but no, I'm not going to explain it _all _soon. This is just the tip of the iceburg, dear, lol. I will say, though, that none of this is a dream. It's all real. None of it will ever say; 'And then she woke up.' He's not her child, really. I'll tell you a secret... come closer... closer... whispers This isn't the beginning of their story. Jareth and Wren's I mean. I started exactly 19 years ago...

**alias-allia** : I'm sorry, but I doubt anything along that strand would ever happen. It would be very difficult to accomidate... But it's not completely off the cards. I love a challange.

**notwritten**: Thanks, notwritten.

**Chaotic Darkness**: totally loves invisable Jareth PLushie! Thank you! I didn't know it was plushie worthy! Yep, you're exactly right about those flashbacks.

**Aviarianna O Lorien**: Wow, I've never been called 'dear girl' before, lol. I'm so happy you like it. I know! How many Jareth/Sarah fics are out there? There must be thousands... I know it's so completely perfect, but after a while you've already read all the variations of their relationship concerning 'flatteringly low cut dresses' and 'bulging tights' and you just want to gag... My fic is _completely different. _I hope you'll like where I take it... Oh, and it is _slight_ Jareth/Sarah, but nothing obvious. It's just implied in passing. Besides, I think Jareth has a little more on his plate to worry about than Sarah's sexy poutsigh facepalm, or in fact, Sarah full-stop.

Thanks everyone, please R AND R, cause I LOVE it when people do that. It is my only reward for doing this (except that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you press 'update story'). Cheers!


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